


The (accidental) Invasion of Earth

by TheyAreSmol



Series: They are Smol [2]
Category: They are Smol - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Memes, Multi, Outer Space, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyAreSmol/pseuds/TheyAreSmol
Summary: The history of the totally accidental not-entirely-our-fault, your-planet-came-out-of-nowhere invasion of Earth by the Karnakians, aka fluffdinos.They're... they're TRYING, ok?
Series: They are Smol [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789228
Kudos: 1





	1. The Invasion of Earth

We called it ‘Oumuamua.

‘Oumuama is Hawaiian, and means “a scout or messenger from the distant past.” This is what historians would later refer to as ‘an incredibly ironic turn of phrase’ as well as being an apt name, for ‘Oumuamua _was_ indeed a messenger from the distant past.

‘Oumuamua looked like rust.

It looked like rust because its surface was composed of primordial metals that had been baked for hundreds of thousands, if not millions of years of cosmic radiation. The theory was that over an unknown period of time the outside of the meteor oxidized and gave it a red - though the newspapers would garishly call it ‘pink’ - outside.

‘Oumuamua also tumbled.

It tumbled and spun because over all it’s long interstellar life it had been jostled and pushed by various planets, stars - nay, entire systems and even weakly by galaxies - and spun like a drunken top, or a jack tumbling on the ground. It pierced our solar system’s axis, flew dangerously close to the sun, and then arced off in a direction not altogether the same vector that it came in on.

‘Oumuamua came and went, and all our eyes were upon it, for it taught us a lot about ourselves, our history, and the universe.

\- - - -

They called it PSP-RRRR-04187-19-887B.

PSP-RRRR-04187-19-887B is a Karnakian Designation, and breaks down thusly:

PSP - Passive Scanning Probe

RRRR - Rapid Response, Random Retreat

04187 - Probe Manufacturing number

19 - Sector

887B - Sub-sector.

Which is just a really roundabout way to say that the name didn’t mean _anything_ in particular; it was a designation meant more for neural networks, reports and AI than to be sapient-readable. The Holy Karnakian Diarchy’s science division was pumping these out by the millions - as was the Dorarizin Empire and the Jornissian Federation, because why send a team of living beings to survey a system when a robot could do it for you, quicker and for less pay?

PSP-RRRR-04187-19-887B looked like rust.

It was a probe amongst an uncountable mass of probes, spinning it’s way to possible oblivion, launched hundreds of years ago to a part of space that - by the time it finished it’s tour - would be ripe for expansion and resource exploitation. It’s internals were some of the most advanced passive electronics that credits could buy - cheaply, mind you - and by casting it in simple elements like iron, nickel and silicon, you could turn the entire body of the probe into an omni-directional sensor array. The shield was the antenna was the shield, basically. Very elegant, very durable, very cheap.

PSP-RRRR-04187-19-887B scanned as it tumbled.

Of course you don’t put all your sensors in one part of the probe, nor put them all facing the same way - you spread them out, you diversify - micrometeorites won’t breach the solid iron “body” of the probe, but they’ll dent. Spread out your sensors, spin the probe and launch it. Every bit of space gets scanned by multiple redundant systems, eliminating error while still allowing for operational effectiveness. Very elegant, almost idiot-proof and again, _very cheap_.

PSP-RRRR-04187-19-887B skipped along the galactic meridian, as was its wont to do for the past 750 years. The reason why most probes were “fire and forget” was because they had an average lifespan of about 500 years and most likely either (1) found nothing of importance or (2) slammed _into_ something of importance, which would then be cataloged, marked as a hazard for interstellar flight, and re-probed a couple hundred years later to see if/when it had moved and what it could be.

However, there were those rare-but-not-infrequent times where a probe would skip into a system and _detect_ something. It didn’t have to be galaxy-shattering; about 15% of the time it was echoes from a nearby settlement or starship that went joyriding into the “unmapped beyond” before coming back. There was another good 50% of the time where all that EM detection did was pickup a particularly fussy star, or a very enthusiastic gas giant. Again, log it and move on. 5% was marked up to “programming errors, dents, misc.” And the vast, _vast_ majority of the rest - 29.99999999841% - were illegal settlements, pirates, ancap rebels or people running from someone. _Those_ were the EM pulses that were **rapidly responded to** , because the last thing you want as a species is a lone mad scientist trying to figure out how to teleport stars on his little outpost in the galaxy.

Then there was the 00.00000000159%. At the time, there were two - well, three, depending on how you look at it - instances where a probe detected something that was _decidedly not_ mundane. The first and second instances were the simultaneous discovery of the Karnakian and the Dorarizin to each other. A Dorarizin ship ended up intercepting a wandering Karnakian probe, tracing it’s origins and returning it to the system of origin - so the dispute as to who discovered whom is still unsolved to this day. Then there was the discovery of the Jornissians, whom all species agreed that if they were sending out _such blatantly artificial probes_ then they _wanted_ to be discovered.

PSP-RRRR-04187-19-887B plunged through yet another system, it’s passive scanning suite up and operational. As it neared the main sequence star it detected blanket EM radiation; it’s algorithms determined it was artificial _and_ intentional. Nearing the star collected more and more data to the point that an internal metric turned over - PSP-RRRR-04187-19-887B enacted a protocol that it’s kind had done many times before; using a quantum-linked series of bits it flagged the star system, changed its trajectory, and let the gravity well fling it into a semi-random direction - far away from any Karnakian settlements, home worlds or blacklist sites.

PSP-RRRR-04187-19-887B, nee ‘Oumuamua came and went, and all our eyes were upon it, for it taught us a lot about ourselves, our history, and the universe.

We just didn’t pay attention to the _real_ lesson.

\- - - - - -

“|YES!|”

“|Alright, settle down, settle down.|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi said, a bemused smile on her face as one of the young tech leads, Tk’il’a, finally sat back down on his seat, the auditorium quieting down to a manageable level.

“|So congratulations, Tk’il’a. This gray gas giant will now be known as …|” the matriarch sighed, “|…Bitter grass. I swear, every single mission-|”

“|You _do_ realize that they’ll rename it, right?|” His friend, Ch’irci said, leaning over her seat. “|It’s a _rude_ name-|”

“|Don’t care I won-|”

“|I _said_ settle down back there.|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi repeated, and was rewarded with total silence and complete, undivided attention.

“| _Very good_. Now. We just received a ping from the Windsongs; apparently a probe a couple dozen light-years from here discovered some unregistered EM radiation -|”

There was a groan from the older crew members and a barely-contained trill of excitement from the newbies who hadn’t realized that _no_ , _the answer is **never** new aliens_, _the answer is **always** a weird star_.

“|- And _yes_ , that means we’re adding another 2 months to our exploratory mission. Yes, that also means an accelerator on your credit pay, so although it’s bitte-|” Tr’Nkwi stopped herself as she saw a feathered crest rise in the audience, quickly clicking her talons against the ship’s hull as a distraction. “|-bitter truth, it’s the nature of this assignment. I know some of us have left yearlings and hatchlings at home; we’ll be back soon enough. And for our more security-minded team, _if_ we have time I don’t see why we can’t use a few of our munitions to destroy an asteroid or something. Equal weight?|”

“|Yeah, that’s an equal weight right there.|” crooned Security Chief Ri’tiki, his molting crest fanning out slightly. “|Just don’t accidentally run out of time before we can have our fun. My knights deserve at least _that_ , wouldn’t you say?|”

“|Mmm. Maybe.|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi smiled, before plastering data on the screen behind her. “|This should be quick - roughly 9 planets, 4 rocky with the rest as gas giants plus the usual detritus from system formation. The odd radiation comes from near the star-|”

“|That’s where liquid water can form, right?|” Piped up Tk’il’a, getting excited. “|What if this could be-|”

“|A pirate’s stronghold, a private unlisted pleasure-planet for a retired governor, a convent of fanatics, a crashed ship still beaming a garbled transmission or a junior technician interrupting her Matriarch _for a second time during her presentation_? Why yes. Yes it could be. Why don’t you tell me which one it is?|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi growled, not entirely in a purely jesting way.

Tk’il’a shrunk into his seat, almost sliding down past his station’s desk as if to escape his Matriarch’s gaze. Tr’Nkwi held it on him for a few moments longer than necessary before continuing. “|…so what we’ll do is jump in a couple light-seconds from the second-largest gravity well, actively scan the outer system using it as a shield, and then spin around to scan the inner. Ri’riki and I have done this a great deal of times, so if you’re a junior on his team or on navigation ask for the details from him; the short version is that by masking our presence in a larger gravity well we won’t trigger a flight-or-fight response from anyone in-system, and by the time the active pings have gotten back to us we know what we’re dealing with and can call for aid.|”

“|It also keeps us out of range for most non-military self-defense orbital systems, begging your pardon for the interruption.|” interjected Ri’riki, giving a slight deferential dip of his head to the Matriarch. “|Which lets us turn tail and run if we have to.|”

“|That too, though I prefer the more noble advancing-in-an-empty-direction, rather than fleeing, Security Chief.|” The matron’s joke was met with a light chirp of a chuckle, before she continued. “|Anyway. We’ve got another 2 days in orbit of this system, so break out into your Master and Apprentice groups and learn as much as you can. Since this is a rapid-response, only seniors will be at the helms, but…if everyone performs admirably, I don’t see why we couldn’t let some of the juniors work their stations as well.|”

A stray thought crept into Matriarch Tr’Nkwi’s mind.

_‘…but what if this time were different?’_

She entertained it for a moment with a soft smile as she watched Tk’il’a gather his robes and leave a little _too_ quickly, the chastisement still hot on his scales.

‘ _What if, indeed._ _’_


	2. Chapter 2

What the Karnakians learned long ago is that there’s no better teacher than experience.

Oh, sure, there was absolutely a time and a place for universities and other institutions of higher learning - especially in the theoretical or theological divisions - but when it came down to brass tacks, it was always better to have someone who’s spent 5 years failing and learning under supervision take the lead than someone who’s only read about it do so.

“|…and if we account for the drij of the planet we’re orbiting?|”

This was true for the simple things, like managing and repairing drones, interior decorating or cooking to the more complex, such as navigating a ship the size of a large metropolitan area around the gravity wells of planets and asteroids without altering their trajectory and causing unknown cascade effects that end up with an errant nickel-iron meteorite slamming into your colony 700 years later.

N-not that the Karnakians were speaking from _experience_ or anything…

“|Um…|” Junior navigator Ch’irci tapped her talons against her workstation, eying the telemetry data in front of her. Everything here was an exact copy of everything a couple dozen floors up; the apprentice bridge functioned both as a great testing-area _and_ a backup to the main bridge. The workstation she sat at - which they wouldn’t even turn on until she spent a month memorizing what all the buttons and dials did - was an exact copy of what she’d sit at once she finally earned her flight crests.

“|I’ll give you a hint.|” Second Navigator Tw’Rria said, pointing at the telemetry data. “|For this system we’re about to jump into, we want our gravity wakes to dissipate without causing navigational hazards. You’re a Ni’tikian?|”

Ch’irci nodded, looking at her senior curiously. Discussing religion wasn’t a workplace faux-pas, but it was an odd non-sequitur.

“|Didn’t one of the Arches say ‘if you throw a pebble in with a bould-’|”

“|-a boulder their wake is all the same. UGH we need to skip in within middle or low orbit-|” Ch’irci groaned, her feathered head-crest splaying flat against her scalp with a soft _whump_.

“|Hey! I knew you’d get it, rookie!|” Tw’Rria said, his face breaking out into a soft smile. A few of the other master/apprentice pairs spared a few seconds to look up at the duo before going back to their own teaching. “|So if we’re coming in close and we don’t want to ripple, we need to pick a large gravity well. Why the second-largest?|”

“|Now you’re just humoring me.|” Ch’irci moped, entering in navigational routes to the ship’s AI. “|The largest gravity well will always be the star or a black hole - neither of which you want to get into close orbit to. Second largest - as long as there’s a massive deviation between it and the first - will most likely be a gas giant, and therefore inert.|”

“|Top marks. You even dodged that little sandtrap I left for you.|”

“|Still. That was a first year question and I forgot. Against the dead, I passed that question in _last week_ _’s test_!|”

“|Mmm. We all make mistakes from time to time - that’s why there are two navigators working at any time, after all. Besides, did I tell you the time about my first real flight?|”

Ch’irci continued to enter in her theoretical navigation data - _flawlessly_ , she might add - as she inclined her head to listen with a frown.

“|So there I was, fresh from my apprenticeship on the Black Sun - and no, not _that_ Black Sun, that was two thousand years before I was born, thankyouverymuch-|”

Ch’irci smiled softly as her senior continued to talk, the AI beeping back confirmations as she worked.

“|-and I sit down at my desk in full dress, because I wanted to impress everyone - never you mind that everyone else was in casuals, and I get my first order: “Confirm with Gri’’ti your preliminaries.” And get this” Tw’Rria said, leaning in close to whisper. “|I had been introduced to the whole bridge crew not 20 minutes ago, and in that moment _I forgot everyone_ _’s name_.|”

“|No. NO!|” Ch’irci said, mouth open in shock as she turned to fully look at her senior, the older navigator reclining back out of her personal space. “|Yes indeed! So the entire bridge was looking at me, in my shiny dress-up, and I just sat there panicking. The Matron repeated her order, and I just started to look around for _someone_ to say _something_. And guess what?|”

Ch’irci turned to face him, her work now forgotten. “|What?|”

Tw’Rria tapped the console that he was resting on, which sat not 5 feet away. “|Gri’’ti was _right here the whole time_ -|”

Ch’irci couldn’t help it and burst out into a trilling laughter, her earlier shame long since forgotten. It took a few seconds for her to die down, and by that time everyone on the deck had given her their full, undivided attention - but it didn’t matter.

“|Th-thank you! Oh by the Spirit, that’s…oh my goodness I would molt on the _spot_ -|”

“|Honestly, I almost did. And by the way, that data looks great. You accounted for the drij of our planet and the theoretical drij and ngri of the gas giant in the other system. If you don’t mind, I’d like to actually kick that data upstairs.|”

“|R-really?!|”

“|Mmhmm. It’s not _perfect_ , mind you, but it’s 80% of the way there. And hey, it might shine a light on you, ay?|”

“|I uh - th-thank you, Taskmaster!|” Ch’irci said, bobbing her head quickly. “|I-I di-|”

“|And before you get any ideas, apprentice, you still need to finish telemetry for the seed probes. I’ll leave you to it?|” Tw’Rria said as he stood up, letting out a little grunt for the effort.

“|Yes sir!|”

“|Alrighty. Finish up your work and send the packet for your Taskmasters to review, and then you’re free until launch. The Matron wants all the apprentices to see how a bridge should work - and please, _please_ make sure your friend doesn’t interrupt her again?|”

“|Y-yes sir…|”

———————————————————————————————————

The Bridge for _The Three Stones_ , a Sacred Exploration Vessel, was both a working area _and_ a bit of a theater, and that was by design. Exploration Vessels rarely dealt with anything _too_ dangerous; being piloted by seasoned crew out-of-map cut out a majority of navigation errors, any pirates or illegal settlements discovered were immediately flagged by the ship as soon as they were discovered - and the ship immediately withdrew from the system - and if someone were so dumb as to think the long-range vessel were easy prey, well. There was always the security team filled with seasoned veterans and _absolutely-bored-out-of-their-minds rookies._

Although some of the Security team were D’re’iasin all their public prayer confessions were always for the ‘safety and security of all the souls onboard’, Matriarch Tr’Nkwi personally believed their secret prayers were more along the lines of ‘please, First Soul, send us a small band of idiot pirates to break the monotony of this assignment’.

Anyway. The bridge was arranged in a “pit” of sorts, with screens all along the walls and a large panel of screens taking up an entire wall to the far “north”. Arranged in a semi-circle around the pit were seats; On the way out the rookies would sit and take notes and learn, and on the way back their Taskmasters would do the same as the rookies piloted over the already-discovered routes back to civilization.

“|Can you be-oww~!|” Tk’il’a said and immediately regretted as his tail was jabbed by a talon’d foot.

“|If you get us in trouble I will never speak to you again.|” murmured Ch’irci, making a point to not turn her head away from the recessed pit in front of her.

The Matriarch turned her head slightly - whether it was because she heard their little tiff or for another reason, Ch’irci didn’t know -

“|Spool Engines.|” she said, as she had said a dozen times before.

\- Ch’irci let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“|Engines Spooling - First breakers clear.|” A Green-clad engineer said from behind the Matriarch, his counterpart working with him in sync.

“|Cargo and Personnel.|”

“|All Cargo in stasis; All living cargo in stasis. All fields blue, all batteries blue.|” Called out a Grey-clad quartermaster from somewhere directly under Ch’irci. She was joined by another unseen voice. “|Personnel assignments set; all personnel accounted for. Emergency systems blue, but deck 12 has that glitch again.|”

“|No criticality?|”

“|Negative ma’am - no personnel stationed near the error.|”

“|Navigation.|”

“|Telemetry data set, checked by AI and within acceptable deviations.|” a Red clad Navigator said, his counterpart Tw’Rria making a note to pause his work to give a soft nod in Ch’irci’s direction.

Ch’irci’s crest rose unbidden in secret joy. It _was_ her data!

“|Piloting.|”

“|All thrusters go, all pumps go, all shields go.|”

“|Acceptable dip in engine spooling; shield-debt paid in 15 seconds.|”

“|Gravity wake go, tensors locking-|” the black-clad pilot said to nobody in particular, his and his two counterparts’ eyes focused solely on their consoles. Throughout the entire ship a series of heavy **thunks** reverberated throughout the hull as locking mechanisms secured, bulkheads shut and the entire ship seemed to _tense_. It was a condition unique to exploratory vessels; by making the ship far more rigid and un-yielding there was a greater chance of surviving a direct hit from whatever small untraceable debris you could possibly collide with while jumping into an un-mapped system.

Well. Surviving is such a _strong_ term. It was more “the ship should remain mostly intact and hey, your emergency unit pods are down the hall and to the right so stop complaining”.

“|Shield debt repaid; Capacitors charging. 2 minutes.|” Engineering called out again.

“|-spine locked, gimbals are go. Clearing is go-|”

“|Packing atmosphere; void warnings are on.|” The quartermaster interrupted, as the isolated stations within the bridge began to work as one.

“|Acceptable dip in engine spooling; clearing debt in 5 seconds.|”

“|-navigation telemetry is fed into system. Looks good, Rr’it’sqk. Gravity well dampener is go-|”

“|Acceptable dip in engine spooling; debt cleared. Capacitors at 40%, debt Jubilee is allowed.|” Engineering said, and was immediately interrupted by multiple voices. Almost every station began to spool up their own systems and subsystems - all of them necessary, but all of them drawing from the capacitor banks as opposed to the spooling engine. After a few moments all voices died down, and there was only the humming of monitors, the shallow anticipatory breathing of the crew, and the Matriarch on her throne.

“|Sound off.|”

“|Engineering is clear for skip.|”

“|Personnel is clear for skip.|”

“|Navigation is clear for skip.|”

“|Piloting is clear for skip.|”

“|Cargo is clear for skip.|”

There was a pause. It only lasted for a moment, but it was just long enough for silence to settle like newfallen snow. The Matriarch looked slowly to the right, then to the left, and shifted a bit in her seat.

“|Lead pilot, at your leave, let us draw a new map.|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi said, a rare broad smile gracing her features.

“|Aye Ma’am!|” The lead pilot said, and his arm moved over his console.

Then, _everything_ _moved_.

The feeling of initiating a skip jump was one of extreme, mind-bending speed. All at once you felt - or _felt_ that you felt - the force of a thousand gravities for just a microsecond, and then…nothing.

Nothing at all.

The only indicator of their current speed and trajectory was the blindingly-fast passage of stars on the monitor wall. Everyone sat there for a few moments before the Matriarch hummed her approval.

“|Well done, everyone. I hope our apprentices were taking notes?|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi said, her face all smiles - and immediately cast her gaze in Ch’irci’s position.

For her part, Ch’irci never nodded so fast in her life.

—————————————————————————————————————

The drop out of “hyperspace”, if you will, was a lot more anticlimatic.

Imagine, if you will, that you have laid out fabric on a table. You take your finger, press down at one end and drag it along the surface. As you build up the ripples on the front of your finger, eventually you have to stop - as you’re dragging too much fabric - and you pull it smooth with your free hand.

That’s the basic premise of dealing with built-up gravitational ripples. All you simply did was kill your thrusters, stop feeding the engine power and your bubble of realspace quickly melded back into the rest of the fabric of the universe. That fabric - depending on how long you had been dragging your “finger”, I.e. the ship, would then snap back and ‘smooth out’ in your wake. You would, of course, keep your ‘realspace’ momentum, so adjustments had to be made once you snapped back into reality.

What greeted the Karnakians after a few days of travel was a large, vast and angry giant, with tormented winds and planet-wide storms. A king - nay, a God, floated before them, indifferent to their cause.

“|Magnificent. To think, we’re the first living beings to see this; the first to appreciate this gem of the One’s artistry.|”

“|I didn’t know you were one to be poetic, Tk’il’a.|”

“|Mmm. I am when the fancy suits me.|” He said, watching the giant take up more and more of the screen wall. “|I don’t want to call this one a foolish name. It needs something grand, you know?|”

“|Settle down over there.|” Droned Taskmaster Ri’li’’, tapping the hard-light screen with his indicator. “|We still have work to do - we came in on the end of this gas giant’s orbit, so we’re piloting to it’s dark side to begin our first round of scans due to overshooting. Navigation and Piloting will need to be _paying attention_ -|”

A few side-conversations quickly died down, and Taskmaster Ri’li’’ continued. “|- and our cargo and personnel will need to make sure our fabrication capabilities are at speed. We’ll begin active scans once we complete our orbit and park; you have 5 hours before we need to work, which should be more than enough time.|”

“|Maybe…|” murmured Ch’irci, before tapping her friend on his arm and pointing to the screen. “|Oh! OH, what is that?|” Ch’irci asked as a large and angry red swirl became illuminated by this giant’s lone, faraway star.

\- - - - -

“No, I mean, _What the fuck is that?_ ” Allen Trazinsky said, tapping his finger so hard into the LCD screen that the crystals distorted.

“Meteor? Hell, we didn’t see Shoemaker-Levy 9 until it was already on a collision course…”

“No. No no no no no. This thing is _fuckhuge_. Look at it, Brian-”

“I… yeah, _yeah_. We sure that’s not an error? What the absolute fuck-”

“ _I know, right?!_ This has to be another exo-solar object-”

“Or else we’re missing a fuckton of world-ending meteors out there. Shit, it’s big enough to be a planetoid! No, no…” Brian Jheske said, swatting away his coworkers’ finger and looking at the data. At any given point of the day or night there were at least 10 institutional telescopes pointed at Jupiter, and that wasn’t counting the hundreds, if not _thousands_ of professional-grade hobby telescopes hard at work staring at the skies.

“Do you think the boys over in SALT or GTC picked this up last night? It’s… what, 15 miles across? 20? Do we have any more data?”

“I don’t know, but we better make some fucking calls.”


	3. Senpai is Noticed

“Ok, I want you to - yes, drop that here please, thank you - I want you to say that again to me, very slowly.” The Man In The Tower said, waving his hand at his assistant. He placed the latest intelligence binder on the corner of the director’s desk and promptly walked out of the room.

“Look, Mike, I am _not_ fucking with you here.”

“I know you’re not; you boys spot the Chinese up there before we do, and we appreciate that. I’m just-” The Man In the Tower cradled the phone receiver in the crook of his neck, reaching out to flip through the binder that was left on his desk. “-not really sure what to make of what you’re telling me. Other than a talk show tour and possibly a book deal-”

“No, **no.** Look, Mike-”

“Brian, what is it? Dumb it down for me, because I’m not really interested in ‘trans-orbital’ retrograde orbits or whatever; I’ve got _much_ bigger fish to fry, and you know this secure line is only for emergencies or updates on Blackeye.”

There was an exasperated, nervous sigh on the other end of the phone, and Mike continued to flip through his intelligence report as his NASA associate collected his thoughts. The Russians were trying to destabilize what’s left of Ukraine after the disastrous pull-out-and-surge-back we attempted in Syria, the Kurds declared themselves a free state - finally - and Iran was now a nuclear state, which prompted Israel to drop _their_ uranium dick on the table, but apparently the Muslim world was up in arms over Iran accidentally hitting the Dome of the Rock so there was a fatwa on-

“Aliens.”

“Fuck off.”

“No. I’ve checked with 15 other observatories - including overseas - and we’re all coming to the same conclusion, _which is why we_ _’re not telling anyone but you types_.”

Mike put the binder down.

“This _thing_ is - it’s like the size of Manhattan. Missing an asteroid that big would be a problem in and of itself, but it _suddenly appeared **in front of Jupiter**_. Not that we traced it _to_ Jupiter - one frame there was the big bastard and the next was _this thing_. Nothing in this solar system moves _that fast_.”

“And you’re certain-”

“ _We_ _’re certain_. I’ve sent over everything to you - raw data, our notes, everything - but we first thought it was an anomaly, or another exo-solar object. But…”

There was a shaky pause, and a deep breath.

“The fucker **_moved_** , Mike. It moved **_against the orbit of Jupiter_** ** _’s moons_**. This means it’s powered; it’s not gravitationally locked to the planet. It appeared, and then from an impact trajectory _the thing moved away_.”

The Man in The Tower leaned forward at his mahogany desk in Langley and closed the folder with his free hand, the phone receiver pressed hard against his ear. Before he could ask his next question his door opened; his assistant gave him a very _very_ concerned look… and held another stack of papers.

“. . . Who else did you say saw this?”

\- - - -

It wasn’t just the boys out in Mauna Kea who noticed - not by a long shot. The Hubble picked it up, of course, but so did SWIFT, Astrosat and BRITE - though that was due to a transit detection and was mostly accidental. CERN was concerned over what they were getting readings of and started to ping various agencies asking some _very pointed questions_ , and AGILE - well, AGILE went absolutely apeshit.

The problem also wasn’t just that a few major governments of the world picked up “The Anomaly” - as The Agency would initially call it; Hobbyist astronomers numbered in the millions worldwide, and at any given time there’s at least a couple hundred telescopes pointed at the King of the Planets to stare in awe at his majesty.

The fact that a city-sized ship blocked their view of the Great Red Spot for a brief moment wasn’t lost on _any_ of them.

And sure, it started with the initial round of tabloid gossip rags picking up the story, “ALIENS VISIT JUPITER - BAT BOY STILL AT LARGE” and a few morning talk shows had some shaky home-camera footage of a bright white dot appearing and disappearing before the Great Red Spot - but for the first few days, it was mostly ignored. Various Internet outlets printed their own take on the amateur photos, a few suited astronomers made the rounds, and things were being relatively suppressed.

Then the leak came.

No, it wasn’t because of any sort of treasonous behavior on an astronomer’s part - by now, multiple high-level calls had been made between various domestic and foreign ABC agencies, and pretty much the entire earth intelligence community was on board for operation “lowkey panic while the nerds figure out _something goddamnit_ ”. Operation Lowkey also had the fun side effect in the astronomical community of “we’ll murder you and everyone you ever loved if you breathe a word of this now above-top-secret information to anyone” with a dash of “We’re giving you all new harddrives; put your old ones in the bag please.”

No, the leak came because _the fucking ship whipped back around into view_.

————————————

Itick’’t was frowning - this in and of itself was nothing new; he was a bit of a sourpuss, all things considered, but that’s what made him _endearing_ _… a_ t least, that’s what some of the older crew who had grown used to his prickliness said. The younger crew just called him “Taskmaster” or “Sir” to his face, and some other things behind his back that aren’t fit to print. However, everyone put up with him because he was _damn good_ at what he did. And what he did was… well, a bit of a nebulous concept.

He was the ships’ ears, but not really. He was their eyes, but not really. He was their lookout - except, well, _not_.

Itick’’t was the ships’ EM/ECM Lord; his job was to make sure to clean up sensor data, to make sure everything was reporting as it should be, and to catch any sort of _glitches_ that would indicate someone was hiding something that they didn’t want discovered. He’d been serving in this capacity for well over 500 years, and had seen many _many_ tricks in _many_ books; anything from spoofed credentials and masked ship wakes to false-star EM transmissions and Well-dropping. Itick’’t was frowning because he finally, _finally_ was running across a trick that made no damned sense.

“?w-$$#@ f-8*&!$.?”

Itick’’t added that new transmission to the bank that he was developing, having his AI churn through the data looking for _reason_. The fact that it was sapient-made was of no argument; he had immediately masked each of the transmissions from the rest of his colleagues’ sensor inputs because for one, he didn’t want to distract them, and two he didn’t want anyone who may be watching to know that _he_ knew.

“?390u —*_* _— 1@$#A`~?”

Itick’’t flicked the next transmission into the bank and erased it from the ship’s combined sensor suite. What was making him frown is that, usually, people tried to spoof _very specific things_ in _very discrete ways_ ; to just blast reams of useless data on almost every spectrum…

“?E**— sd@@1@ #$@ !*>> ,<@!1!e?”

It was stupid. You’re basically screaming to anyone with any sort of sensor suite “HERE I AM RIGHT HERE LOOK AT ME” - And that blatant signaling was coming from _everywhere_. It was bouncing off of the gas giant they orbited, it was ricocheting from satellite planetoid to satellite planetoid, it pinged off of every asteroid and comet, and echoed from the cold planets that were lazily tugged along by their home star’s gravity like errant children.

“|Navigation, what’s our status on mapping?|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi asked, idly flipping through screens of data on her command station.

“|This giant is fussy, if Itick’’t’s frown is anything to go by-|” teased Rr’it’sqk, tapping through a few screens of her own. “|But he cleaned up the data enough that we’ve got a 77% confidence of mapping everything out there. The holes will be filled by the AI, but the major navigational hazards are all laid out.|”

“|Good. Piloting? Any reason we can’t spin around and continue mapping?|”

“|Negative, Matron. All systems are Blue on our end - the lord has cleared out his nest, so we shouldn’t hit any errant debris.|”

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi spared a moment to look up at the assembled juniors who were excitedly looking over the new telemetry and astronomy data, and smiled. What was it - 3, 400 years ago she was in that same seat, peeping happily over seeing her first binary comet…

“|Well then, with your leave-|”

Itick’’t grunted. It was a little thing, but Tr’Nkwi didn’t get promoted to Matriarch over ignoring the little things. A silent conversation was opened forcefully on a certain bridgeworkers’ implant.

‘|Yes?|’

‘|I don’t like it.|’

‘|What don’t you like?|’

‘|I don’t know.|’

‘|Itick’’t-|’

‘|Be aware, we’re not the first here. Outside of that, I don’t know.|’

‘|I see.|’

“|Strri’rii, what are our capacitors at?|” the Matriarch asked innocently - innocently to everyone who hadn’t served with her before. A slight, imperceptible ripple of tension went through the crew, and a few sub-routines began to be silently enacted.

“|Capacitors at 85% Ma’am; We’re clear to **_run_** on stored power if necessary.|” The Chief Engineer said, his talons clicking a bit _too_ fast over approving various subroutines.

“|Trra’ira?|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi said, addressing her chief Pilot.

“|…Shields are up, in the off chance we hit an errant comet.|” Trra’ira called out, his hands gripping the control sticks firmly.

“|Rr’it’sqk?|”

“|We’re clear to navigate around the planet, and even **_backtrack_** , if we have to.|” Rr’it’sqk said, her co-navigator Tw’Rria silently and furiously calculating emergency jump routes.

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi spared a moment to look up at the assembled juniors who were excitedly looking over the new telemetry and astronomy data, and smiled bittersweetly.

“|Trra’ira, please bring us around.|”

The ship lurched forward, the idly-spooled engine driving the massive ship around the gas giant’s equator. Slowly, imperceptibly slowly, the giant went from dark, to twilight, to day as the ship rounded the equator. Dawn broke on the bridge, and the entire crew was bathed in the white light of the lone star.

Nothing happened. No blueshifted missile headed their way, no sudden shuddering of shields, no overload of the engine - no boarding craft or pirates or mines or _anything_.

Matron Tr’Nkwi was looking at the newbies - for they had quieted down at the majestic sight - but also at her EM/ECM Lord, whose frown was only deepening. She saw him move in his workstation; he pressed a few buttons, toggled some switches, dismissed some screens and moved a few more inputs to his private implant - And then for the first time in the 300 years they had been serving together she saw something that made her blood run cold.

**Itick** **’’t froze**. He didn’t move a muscle, he didn’t blink - and if he wasn’t implanted with a health suite, Tr’Nkwi would think he stopped breathing. Itick’’t’s mouth opened, then shut, then opened again hung open.

“|EM Lord, Report.|” The Matron commanded to the statue, carved in the visage of her crewmate.

“|…EM Lord, **Report**.|” The Matron commanded again to the dead, as Itick’’t’s jaw moved up and down just a fraction, his normally-reserved feathers beginning to signal… _something_.

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi leaned forward in her command chair, summoning up the most authoritarian voice she could muster.

“| **Itick** **’’t, Report to your Matron.** |” She commanded once more, and once more she was utterly and completely ignored by a man in a trance. The commotion - and the lack of decorum from one of the more notorious hardasses of the crew, had completely and utterly fixed everyone’s attention. With a growl of frustration the Matriarch overrode his console, flinging whatever damnation that had transfixed him to the main screen.

“?- _And we still don_ _’t know what it was, Tim!-?”_

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi froze, as did the rest of the ship. Suns stopped humming, moons quit their orbit and hung still.

“? _Niisiis, kuidas me end selliste sissetungijate vastu kaitseme? Lihtne! Kinnitades oma keldri-_?”

On the main screen, overlaid multiple times, were these… _things_. Yipping, moving, acting, talking _things_ that were all jumbled up and moving into each other; transmissions overlapping dozens, if not hundreds of times.

“? _-So then ask yourself, punk: Do I feel lucky? Well, d-_?”

The Matron’s mouth hung open slightly, trying to form words - orders of what to do next. The one part of her training manual that was now in effect was the one chapter that pretty much _everyone_ disregarded; First Contact Protocol. She had so many things to do, and they all needed to be done at once - determine the source of the transmissions, determine their intentions, calculate emergency warp skips and then randomize them-

A high-pitched musical note pierced the stunned silence of the crew, snapping them all out of the one-in-a-quadrillion chance they had found themselves in. Matriarch Tr’Nkwi looked around confused, until she tilted her head up-

Tk’il’a had expanded his feathers to his maximum size, his head was tilted all the way back fully exposing his neck, and his frills were standing on end. The grin that split his face-

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi immediately growled a dangerous growl. She couldn’t allow-

The long trilled note continued unabated.

“|Tk’il’a I will ha- I will have you **_excommunicated if you continue to-_** |”

As his seatmates began to jostle him from side to side to get him to be silent, Tr’Nkwi came to a realization: It was too late. It was far too late. Tk’il’a was going to be _insufferably smug,_ and they were _all_ going to have to live with it.


	4. Wherein humans get things ready for their visitors

First Contact Procedures, broadly, were meant to do three specific things:

(1) To ensure the safety and security of your home species

(2) To determine the intentions and capabilities of the discovered species

(3) To begin peaceful communications in a slow, deliberate way

And since First Contact Procedures were the part of the book that you scribbled notes over, that was basically the sum total of every mariner’s knowledge of them. To _The Three Stones_ ’ credit, it only took them 6 hours to gather their wits about them, and _another_ 2 hours to find a serviceable copy of that particular chapter in their handbook, but once it was put in the Matron’s talons the bridge moved like a well oiled machine.

**Step One:** Ensure the safety and security of your home species

“|Engineering is go. Routing connection to Shepherd.|”

Step One was to scatter a subset of drones and skip them outside of the system; of the ones that survived, ping one of them at random to connect to your home sectors.

“|Good. Ah, EM Lord-|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi said, the sound of soft metal pages being turned over and back again filling the pauses between conversation.

“|Nothing coming in. No additional gravity wells, but I’m _certain_ there’s a passive detection sink-|”

“|Alright, keep your eyes open for re-enforcements. Navigation-|”

“|All telemetry set, ma’am. We’re clear for 4 vectors, plus a slow road to the target-|”

“|Good. Pilot-|”

“|Nothing, ma’am, but we’re shielded an-|”

Step one was very important - the most important, really, which is why it’s **_step one_**. You make sure to let your people know where the potential enemy is, without letting the enemy know where your people are.

With an innocent ping the Engineering lead interrupted the conversation. “|Connection through drone 12 established with Shepherd …Krri’ik’ti. Shepherd on screen.|”

Without any ceremony the visage of a grayed, aged Karnakian popped up on the monitor wall, a small bemused smile on his face.

“|Well, greetings and blessings to you, Matriarch Tr’Nkwi of _The Three Stones_. Let me guess - Run out of fuel? Or are your survey holds full already?|”

“|Shepherd Krri’ik’ti, blessings and greetings to you as well - no, nothing so simple. Are we - any movement?|”

“|Nothing|” EM Lord Itick’’t said, continuously scanning the skies.

Shepherd Krri’ik’ti frowned. “|-Ah. Pirates, I take it. Well, we’-|”

“|Shepherd Krri’ik’ti, forgive me for my bluntness - it’s first contact.|”

To his credit, Shepherd Krri’ik’ti paused for only a moment before looking somewhere offscreen, a flurry of undefined sound beginning to pick up behind him. “|And we’re…|”

“|Yes sir - as you-|”

“|Yes… I see. _Incredible_. You’ve been hailed?|”

“|No sir. Nothing.|”

**Step Two: D** etermine the intentions and capabilities of the discovered species

“|I’ve passed this along straight to the Diarch’s offices; it’s an auspicious day, certainly, but they _do_ border our space…|” Krri’ik’ti murmured, looking over the data. “|No hails, no warp signatures - we’re certain they’re not masking in corvettes with their other planets’ gravity wells?|”

“|We’re -|” Tr’Nkwi spared only a glance at EM Lord Itick’’t before looking back. “|- certain. Nothing. I have some of our crew studying previous first contacts, but-|”

“|Hm? Ah. My… colleague here suggests they could be farming culture, like the M’brujj. Did you verify that with- you did? Ok-|”

“|I’m sorry, the what?|”

“|The M’brujj - the sect and practice have fallen out of favor, but, a long time ago…sorry, the AI is still pulling the data into a heuristic thesis analysis, but they would apparently set up colonies on far-distant worlds, give them enough technology to be self-sustaining and have a certain standard of living, a way to communicate with the core worlds… and then just leave them there for a couple millenia.|”

“|What? Why?|”

“|Mmm. Pseudo-isolation would create unique cultures - actually this makes some sense - cut off from interstellar trade for so long, locals would be forced to innovate. After a few thousand years they’ve either made their own starships and come back into the fold, or they’re reclaimed by the Diarchy as a whole. Notes are exchanged and everybody benefits.|”

“|That would explain why we haven’t been hailed; They probably don’t have an active array.|” EM Lord Itick’’t interrupted, continuing to scan. “|Without an active array, the only direction you can beam is right back home.|”

“|So… they’re a stranded colony until they figure out what _our_ intentions are.|” Mused Tr’Nkwi, studying the blue-green orb projected on-sreen. “|Stranded at least, until the core worlds check back in with their colony.|”

“|They probably thought they were alone.|” Mused Shepherd Krri’ik’ti, looking over the expanding data thesis. “|That would explain why they broadcast on all spectrums; nobody else is around to hear, so why worry? And what stupid band of pirates would attack an entire _colony world?_ |”

“|So, what are we looking at here in terms of capabilities?|”

“|Mmm. Mostly-unified species, most likely. From what you’ve shown us… a middling colony. Plenty of population centers, farms - probably just another colony copy of their core worlds. AI’s giving it a 94% chance within acceptable deviations.|”

“|Alright. So what’s next?|”

“|Well. According to _my_ never-before-opened copy-|” Shepherd Krri’ik’ti chuckled, holding up a pristine, ancient manual, “|-we’re to form an Armada through the Crusade. That’ll be… checking the deployment maps here - with the jump data you’ve given us, say, another 3 days?|”

**Step Three:** Begin peaceful communications in a slow, deliberate way

“|I see. Shepherd, I don’t like sitting still-|”

“|Oh, no no. This glory falls upon you - we can’t… _no one_ would want a strange ship sitting still in their system for days. You’re to make first contact; exchange gifts, pleasantries, show them we mean no harm. Probably once you let them know you’re just a simple survey vessel they’ll welcome you with open arms.|”

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi laughed mirthlessly. “|And if they don’t?|”

The greying Shepherd looked flatly at the Matriarch. “|Well from what we’ve deduced they have no in-system fleet, so it’s not like they can stop you from leaving. And if they do…|”

The Shepherd’s stare grew noticeably colder. “|That’s what the Armada is for.|”

“|I…see.|”

“|So. Take the most obvious route to their primary colony world, maintain communication silence until we show up - does your EM Lord agree?|”

“|I don’t _like it_ , but I agree. The last thing we need is this species to backtrack our signals…|” EM Lord Itick’’t grumped, tapping a few more things into his console.

“|I don’t understand - I thought we were communicating securely - Engineering?|”

“|Ah - Ma’am. If they figure out where we’re beaming to, they could jump a fleet to that endpoint without us ever knowing - the drones _are_ skipped out randomly. From there, it’s as simple as waiting for us to pick the wrong drone to update central on…assuming they don’t just dismantle the thing and backtrack us from there.|”

“|We’re masked by this giant lord’s-|” Itick’’t gestured to the gas giant idly as he continued to work “|- majesty, so this far out our communications have a wider variance; we’re harder to track and _we_ _’ll obviously know_ if we’re being tracked, what with a ship warping in and hailing us.|”

“|I see. And we’re _certain_ that reinforcements will be here in 3 days? I just-|”

“|I’ve already received a processed order from the Diarch’s altars, with their personal seals. You will be getting an Armada of ships in that system in the next 3 days, and neither the silence of the dead or the void will stop them.|”

“|A…alright. Then with your leave, Shepherd, we’ll…|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi looked down at her manual before hesitatingly looking at her Engineering lead. “|…remote detonate the drones and maintain communications silence until the fleet arrives.|”

“|Aye, Ma’am.|” Engineering lead Strri’rii said, tapping a few buttons on his console.

“|Good luck, Matriarch. You have full authority of the Holy Diarchy behind you; fear nothing and stride forth.|”

“|I-I, what?|”

“|Yes.|” The greyed administrator said, his smile becoming somehow bittersweet. “|Until we meet again, you have full authority. Enjoy that while it lasts.|”

“|. . . Yes, Shepherd.|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi said, and bowed her head. The crew slowly followed suit, and in that silence deep in the void of space the only means of communications that _The Three Stones_ had with their home, detonated.

Silence fell on the bridge once more, and in silence Trra’ira Piloted their ship towards an intercept vector to parts unknown.

“|~~~~*!|” Tk’il’a continued to trill through the tape that clenched his jaw shut.

\- - - - -

Throughout Mankind’s history, there have been a plethora of bad people, bad ideas, and bad speeches.

Sometimes the three of them form a venn diagram of crap and somehow take off, and then you get Disco.

Sometimes just one of the three finds a home in a person, and they change the world forever. Lookin’ at you, inventor of the Interrobang.

But sometimes good people with good ideas can articulate them in terrible, _terrible_ ways. Anyone remember that one guy who screamed during a US Political campaign and that just ended his career? Those were innocent times. There’s JFK’s “I am a doughnut” speech too. Of course, on the other end of the spectrum you have Marie Antoinette, or Idi Amin; terrible people saying terrible things.

President Carter was neither terribly good, nor terribly bad. He was pragmatic; he made deals, he kept the government running - something his predecessor couldn’t say - and he stuck to his morals, but wasn’t so inflexible as to make progress impossible. All in all, he was a decent President who would go down in history as the man who led the country through The Great Upheaval, as it would be known in the more academic circles, or “That giant clusterfuck” as it would be known to everyone else.

He would also go down in history as the man who gave the _worst speech of all time_. He didn’t know it at the time, of course; Standing at the dais with papers in-hand, he was expecting to go through a simple speech of reassurance to the populous, to raise their eyes to the skies with wonder, to ignite the fire of passion that lies dormant in the hearts of his fellow man.

What he did _not_ mean to do was react to the news that whispered into his earpiece mid-speech that _the Anomaly has moved and is coming here_ with the outburst, “ _What do you mean it_ _’s coming here?_ ”

This was followed up by about 15 seconds of silence.

President Carter licked his lips. “Alright… so firstly: Nobody panic.”

This was followed up by about 15 minutes of frantic questioning, phone calls, police sirens and the mobilization of the greatest Military machine mankind had ever known.

\- - - - - -

“|I don’t like it.|”

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi leaned over her station, sighing heavily. “|You haven’t liked _anything_ about this. You don’t need to keep reminding us.|”

“|No, it’s… It doesn’t make any sense.|”

“|It’s an alien mind - our best bet is to move slowly and deliberately - Pilot?|”

“|We’ll be in orbit of the binary planet system within the next 4 hours.|” Trra’ira said, smoothly steering the ship forward.

“|It’s more - wait. We’re…|”

“|Itick’’t I will rip out your tongue if you keep drifting off in mid-conversation-|”

“|Apologies Matriarch. I _think_ we’re getting hailed. It’s just so difficult to determine - they’re not really using any specific EM band-|”

“|Well, put it up on screen-|”

Itick’’t frowned and did as he was ordered - and on screen were multiple, _multiple_ scenes of carnage. Cities alight, aliens in the streets and thoroughfares - dressed in strange garb, doing strange things - others in uniform, firing onto the crowd-

“|Well _that_ _’s_ a riot.|” Security Chief Ri’tiki said, staring intently at the blue-clad soldiers on-screen.

“|Then we should hurry - finding out you’re not alone in the universe, this is probably traumatic for them-|”

“|Aye. That’s also…|” Ri’tiki trailed off as one of the points of view panned up, a few obviously militarized flying machines hovering overhead, while a few other aliens in fatigues spoke behind flagg’d backdrops. “|…interesting. Multiple classes of soldiers, possibly?|”

“|What do you think is happening? Are they militant - or is it more they’re trying to keep order?|”

“|Well-|” Ri’tiki scratched his cheek, pulling loose a few errant feathers. “|-we’re well within range of GIM bombardment, but we’ve detected no lock-ons or Maser fire or anything else, if my EM Lord and Pilot’s lack of screaming is anything to go by.|”

“|So more to keep order, you think?|”

“|I’d venture so. Keep order, fortify your most precious assets, let the guest call from the gate first. For all we know, their core belief system could demand they be alone in the universe, so there’s no telling what we’ve done to them.|”

“|Unfortunate… We should stay in orbit once we-|”

“|Ma’am, I don’t mean to interrupt-|”

“|Yes you do, Itick’’t. What is it?|”

Wordlessly the EM Lord put the planet back on screen - and zoomed in dramatically, past debris and archaic abandoned satellites, to…

“|What is _that_?|”

“|It’s a… I’m almost certain, it’s a space station, Ma’am.|”

“|That. _That_ _’s_ a Space station? Are you certain it’s not a passive relay-|”

“|Aye… ma’am. I’ve scanned and pinged it on every frequency that would make sense - it’s got no internal power. I’m almost certain it’s 100% solar powered-|”

Dumbfounded silence settled on the bridge crew yet again.

“|…it’s not solar as backup-|”

“|No, Ma’am. There’s no indication of any sort of internal power structure.|”

The bridge crew - and the whole of the viewing gallery - sat there, puzzling over this new oddity.

“|I…if I may?|” a small, quiet voice piped up. It was so quiet and so soft that normally it wouldn’t have been noticed, but as the muffled trill of Tk’il’a had long-since become omnipresent background noise it stood out like a sore thumb.

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi turned her head and looked up at Junior engineer Ch’tki’ea, motioning with her hand to continue.

“|A-ah, um. What if… what if this _isn_ _’t_ a colony world? What if it’s their home?|”

Engineering lead Strri’rii snorted, crossing his arms. “|Really? The odds of that are so far outside of the deviation standards that it would… that would………|” he trailed off in silence as his mind began to work overdrive, sharing a now-terrified glance with his crewmates.

_That would explain the lack of technology._

_That would explain the lack of hailing._

_That would explain the fact that there_ _’s no orbital defenses._

_That would explain **everything**_.

Pilot Trra’ira swallowed dryly as he moved into orbit above a panicking, burning, roiling, _primitive_ world.


	5. Mipsy Deserved it

Really, all things considered, the first 24 hours were the _worst_.

This is from both the perspective of the crew aboard _The Three Stones_ but also all of Humanity; the dread weight of the problem just _floating right above you_ hung around everyone’s neck, plunging them into the icy cold ocean of anxiety and despair.

Granted, _The Three Stones_ spent most of this time orbiting over the planet, scanning it and parsing as much information as possible to try and figure out what to do. They were hailed by various militaries - or military factions - as well as what they assumed were multiple leaders, religious icons, cults, and scientists. Surprisingly there wasn’t much they could glean from them, other than physiology and what these species’ “concerned face” looked like; it’s not like their AI was magic and could parse what they were saying. The engineering team really _really_ appreciated this species’ science division, as learning about their base 10 number system and how they expressed complicated mathematical ideals went a long way to plugging gaps in their translation matrices.

Unfortunately, it also reaffirmed that this was the homeworld of a brand-new, **primitive** species. Honestly, you’d think it would be all the _rioting_ that would’ve tipped them off, but to be fair, _we kinda just do that sometimes_.

The first 24 hours for Humanity was… let’s say “interesting”. All supermarkets were empty, all churches were full - and their parishioners armed - and the roads, well. For the first time, people were quietly and urgently moving forward _everywhere_ , and Sunday drivers didn’t exist. The greatest benefit to the first 24 hours, as was unanimously agreed upon once the dust settled, was that pretty much every boss that deserved to get got _got **got**_ by a mass of employees who were wholly convinced that they weren’t going to live to see the next Monday Morning Meeting.

Then Tuesday rolled around, the Earth collectively unclenched it’s asshole just a little bit, and began to wait for their visitor’s next move.

\- - - - - - -

“| **YOU WILL FALL IN RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME I WILL SEND YOU TO SEE THE SPIRITS OF YOUR ANCESTORS IN SHAME.** |” Bellowed Security Chief Ri’tiki, standing at perfect attention as his small army collected itself and formed into companies. When it came to security drills and training the next generation of warriors, at the best of times Ri’tiki was stern if not kindly, and at the worst of times…well. Feathers _did_ grew back.

However, today of all days Security Chief Ri’tiki was not taking any shit from _anyone_. He stood upon a raised dais, unmoving, unblinking, as his soldiers collected themselves underneath him. His mood was markedly different; the weight of the debriefing he was about to deliver had fully settled upon him, and it was with that same gravitas that he was about to present to his charges.

Behind him, the planet appeared on-screen, and a few excited murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“|Pay attention to this mission briefing; I will not repeat myself, and deviance from these orders will be met with summary execution.|”

Silence.

“|Approximately 17 hours ago we began orbiting the planet you see behind me, which we are designating CRADLE. Multiple scans of our equipment have allowed us to determine CRADLE’s infrastructure - it’s primitive at _best_ , and dangerous at worst. Here, Here and here-|” Parts of the planet lit up, highlighting various population centers. “|Are major centers of habitation, and from what we’ve been able to parse from the clusterfuck of raw data coming at us every second, are local centers of government.|”

On one landmass above a center of government a second habitation center was highlighted; a picture of a building, some flags, a picture of their own world with a blue background emblazoned various vehicles outside.

“|We believe this is their global seat of government, in which representatives of all their territories work much like our own Senate. We will not be going _anywhere near_ this city, nor the capitol city of the host territory-|”

Another image, a Red, white and blue striped and starred flag popped up and landed on multiple locations on the planet.

“|We believe this is the symbol of their unifying territory, or of the territory that is directly managed by CRADLE’s unified government. We’ve determined this symbol is on multiple landmasses and islands all across this world, so it’s safe to say that they are the ones we will be negotiating with initially.|”

The selected cities dimmed out, and a new civilian center was highlighted.

“|In 2 hours we are going to load out and land at this civilian center, codenamed GATEBELL, in unarmed survey dropships. 4 ships will touch down; First and Second squads shall be disembarking and escorting our negotiators and ambassadors in these two ships, while Third, Fourth, Fifth and Sixth will wait in the other two. We are going to land here-|”

A mass of woodland and open space appeared, nestled close to the city - but not so close as to be in it’s heart.

“|Disengage, and wait. Once the ambassadors signal they are done - or tell your Lieutenants what to do next - then you will either move back into the ship and return to _The Three Stones_ , or will do whatever is culturally appropriate for CRADLE’s population.|”

Security Chief Ri’tiki looked over his troops with a hard eye.

“|We are going to be following all the rules of war with some significant additions. For starters, you will not take any lethal weapons on you; If you are found to be carrying _anything_ lethal, **_including pitknives_** , you will be summarily executed. You will not be aggressive towards CRADLE’s populace; do not blink, do not move, do not scream or yell or _fucking speak_ , or I or your Lieutenants - the only ones landing on that planet with lethal weaponry - _will_ summarily execute you. You will not fire upon CRADLE’s security forces if and when they appear, and no, forget what you learned in training - you _will_ be summarily executed if you attempt to move out of their line of fire. If you are fired upon, you will not make any aggressive movements towards your nonlethal weapons until you are cleared by your Lieutenants to defend yourselves; if you do so without order you _will_ be summarily executed. If you are forced to engage in self-defense, you will be retreating back to the ships - not advancing. If the _thought_ of being a hero pops into your head, you _will_ be summarily executed. **Do you understand me**.|”

“| **YES SIR**.|” a thousand voices chorused at once. Their cry echoed around the hangar, and Ri’tiki let the ringing die down before he continued.

“|You may be asking yourself if I’ve lost my mind, or if we’re marching to our deaths, to which I say you may be right. However, we are on an uncut path; Never before has first contact been made with a species so primitive, never before have we met a brother on such uneven ground. They are scared, they are confused, and they are hoping that we come in peace. We do. **_I will not slaughter these innocents_** , even if they end all our lives - and I would rather be excommunicated for venting everyone out into the void before I burn their world to the ground. Have I made myself clear on my position?|”

“| **YES SIR**.|” a thousand voices chorused at once, no meeker than the first time. Ri’tiki allowed himself a small, flicker of pride to warm his heart; The young recruits before him realized the gravity of the situation, and were willing to follow him - even to death - to make this right.

…It would be right in the end, Ri’tiki decided to himself, as he dismissed his soldiers for their final preparations.

\- - - - -

“|Calm down, calm down, calm down-|”

The dropship rocked back and forth as it was cradled for the first time in a long time by true atmosphere; the high-altitude winds began to buffet the smaller craft as it lazily began drifting down to GATEBELL, performing obvious, lazy arcs to their target.

“|You alright there, Tr’chr’’?|”

“|NEV-never better. You?|”

Aq’rel’a smiled softly, playfully elbowing her squadmate as much as the dropship harness would allow. “|Ah, I’m fine. You know, the locals are gonna love us! Where else would they see such shining examples of peak Karnakian performance-|”

“|The insane asylums, atmo-venting drug dens, the morgue-|”

“|I hear you back there Ckr’rri’li, and I’m ignoring you.|” Aq’rel’a quipped, bringing a smile to Tr’chr’’’s face. “|Look, it’s - it’s going to be fine. I mean it.|”

“|You said that about the obstacle course-|”

“|Well you finished it-|”

“|And the live-fire exercises-|”

“|Everything grew back-|”

“|And sneaking food from mess hall.|”

“|That… was an oversight. But you have to admit, my track record is stellar excepting that-|”

The beep of a warning alarm interrupted all conversation, before the pilot quickly shut it off. “|We’ve been intercepted… They’re not firing.|”

“|S-see? F…fine.|” Aq’rel’a smiled shakily. “|If they were hostile they’d have done _something_ by now.|”

“|Yeah, I uh. I guess…|”

“|Just remember. You and I stick together, we go left out the gate and stop under the wing, and then zone out until someone yells at us.|”

“|Just like in training.|”

“|Hah!|”

The ship rocked a bit back and forth as more atmosphere surrounded it, punching through clouds and wind and sky, slowly and quickly making its’ way to the designated landing spot. It did so in relative silence; the soldiers on board reflecting on the weight of being a willing meatshield, and the few volunteer - and voluntold - “ambassadors” going over their gifts, their attempts to communicate peaceful intent, and their desire to _not_ piss anyone off and have to fight off dozens, if not hundreds of these strange, unknown aliens.

“|Landing Approach.|” The Pilot said, breaking everyone out of their silent reverie. “|Pray for us, Ili’Ntwrek. Unlatching Piths.|”

The cascading sound of dozens of magnetic locks released, and the interior of the dropship bathed the crew in a sickly green as the harnesses slid open. The soldiers began to sway a bit more, gabbing hold of various handles, latches and straps to secure themselves in place as they prepared to disembark; the ambassadors’ grip on their still-locked harnesses turned white.

“|Begin, O’ my soul, the rapture of innocence, the song of my heart-|”

“|Grandfather, I ask thee, the distilled blood of my flesh-|”

“|The Great Spirit speaks to all, and to all who listen, she protects-|”

“|By the fire that burns behind our eyes, an oath; To you who bear witness-|”

“|Final Burn.|”

A few grunts interrupted the cascade of prayers as the dropship bled speed, it’s gravitational dampeners long since turned off. The ship shook fiercely for a few moments before a still settled on it’s frame.

With a heavy, mechanical **thunk** the two largest magnetic locks released, and the hot Georgia sun bathed the crew for the first time.

“|OUT OUT OUT REMEMBER YOUR POSITIONS-|” Cried Lt. K’uree, as the dropship disgorged it’s contents.

\- - - - - -

Hank reflected on the absolute absurdity of it all.

You see, the world might be ending… sure. The aliens could be here to enslave us, or steal our water, or take our habitable planet - the news had every self-proclaimed “xeno-(insert title here)” making the rounds, trying to whip up a frenzy for one reason or another. There were an equal amount “xeno-” people who said they may be benevolent; a star trek federation, perhaps, or a survey vessel from another empire, or here to help us ‘ascend’ - whatever the hell that meant. The real reason would sort itself out soon enough; if they were kind at least he kept his cool, and if they weren’t, well

…it’s not like he or Sarah could do anything about it.

The real absurdity was, after that first day where half of the people of the planet camped out in the woods and went apeshit and the other half just called in sick to work, was that…life continued. Babies needed to be changed, food needed to be cooked, gas needed to be pumped-

“Rrrrrrraar! Yip yip yip yip yip yi-”

-and little asshole toy dogs needed to go out to take a shit.

Hank for his part was a simple man; he found a good woman, they married - no children yet, but a little girl was on the way - and he lived an average life. So as to why an _alien dropship had decided to pick Piedmont Park to land, and had decided to do so near him while Mipsy was taking a shit_ was something that could not be parsed by any sane mind, and quite honestly, was just absolutely absurd.

“Yip yip yip yip yip yip yip-”

“Goddamnit, Mipsy.” Hank sighed as the alien ship’s bay door dropped. “I’m not dressed for this.”

“Yip yip yip yip yip-”

“…I’m taking you out with me, you little shitrat.”

\- - - - -

The fans on the combat suit kicked in immediately, pumping purified, recirculated air through the helmet to stop it from fogging up and to provide Tr’chr’’ with enough breathable air to not hyperventilate. His booted feet hit the dirt of CRADLE, and he instinctually snapped hard to the left, moving forward with his battle-buddy behind him. As the Dropship’s wings rotated up along the body into a locked position he stopped - his combat suit’s HUD notifying him that Aq’rel’a had stopped a scant few meters to his right.

Everything was… _wrong_.

Yes, the grounds of this park were manicured, and the buildings nearby were obviously built by intelligent life. The streets, although small, were laid out to some design known only to the occupants, and the various cylinders and metal boxes that lined the streets were put there with care - everything had a purpose and was crafted to that purpose, but _it was all **wrong**_.

Tr’chr’’ looked up, slowly, and met eyes with a native.

It was… Tr’chr’’ blinked away a few status indicators, clearing his helmet’s visor to get a better view. It was bipedal, with no tail for balance - it tottered unsteadily on two spindly limbs. It had light cropping of downy feathers - no, hair, Tr’chr’’ decided - in patches over it’s body. No shell, no mat of thick fur or hide, no scales… nothing but bare, smooth skin.

Now, none of this was _news_ to Tr’chr’’; he had been engrossed over the parsed footage from this world like everyone else. However, it was one thing to see it on-screen but a totally different thing entirely to see it _up-close and **live**._ The object of his gaze was staring intently back at him with two small, shocked eyes; whatever tiny, squirming creature he had in his hand he dropped into one of the cylindrical containers with an unceremonious _thup_.

They stared at each other; The Karnakian overlooking the pajama-clad human, and the Human staring at the jet-black featureless outline that is a Karnakian fully-sealed combat rig. They remained as such, unmoving, as mechanical sirens began to blare from all around them. Almost as an afterthought Tr’chr’’ engaged his rangefinder and started slightly at the response.

100 meters.

But that’s _wrong_. If that’s the case, then these aliens couldn’t be any taller than a chick after their first molting. That would mean they’re-

“|…so _small_.|”

Tr’chr’’ dared to turn his head to Aq’rel’a, silently trying to scream with his eyes through their helmets to _shutupshutupohAncestorsshutup-_

Soulsight all Karnakians were born with, but apparently true psychic powers were still out of their grasp, as Aq’rel’a turned bodily towards him and tilted her head in the alien’s direction. “|I mean… _look at it_. I thought they looked silly just moving about, but…|”

“|Aq’rel’apleasebequietIdon’twanttodie|” whined Tr’chr’’ in as light and quick a tone as possible, his suit beginning to dispense relaxants to stop his heart from exploding in his chest.

“|I mean… it’s kinda cute, yanno? Here I was thinking they were going to tower over us because they’re always reared back, but to find they’re not even shoulder-height-|”

Tr’chr’’ wordlessly screamed, his body standing perfectly still, unintentionally freezing his Human counterpart across the way. The creature seemed to collect itself, and inhaled deeply.

“?@B—* ^^$##w%, ppbt!?”

They inhaled sharply; Tr’chr’’ because he was being hailed, and Aq’rel’a in order to let out the longest, softest peep.

\- - - - - - -

“Uh, hello! The little bastard deserved it! Um.”

Hank absentmindedly wiped his hands on his rumpled t-shirt, _acutely_ aware that he was not dressed in any way, shape or form to welcome family, let alone probably alien diplomats from another planet. In his haste to be as presentable as possible to the creature staring a hole into him - and also to not offend anyone - he went on autopilot. Step one when guests are over was to put up the dog. He spared a glance at the yipping trashcan.

…so, step one completed.

Step two was “stop looking like a damn hobo”, and that’s where he was running into some real issues. Since he very well couldn’t change out of his early Saturday morning attire, he was doing his best to make it work… and to be honest, he wasn’t under **any** impressions it was working. This pushed him automatically into Step three: Apologize.

“I um. Y-You know you’re uh, parking on the lawn? I mean, you probably can, I don’t think… it’s illegal. Uh.”

One of the aliens, clad in the same black suit but somehow holding itself different, rounded around the craft to his side and stared at him - or at least, stopped moving and kept it’s “head” pointed in his direction.

“But ah, Welcome? I-ignore the steel plates on the road, we just kinda, uh, do that, um. Hi?” Hank tentatively raised his hand and gave a little wave, only to have it slowly mirrored by the three aliens on his side of the ship closest to him. He repeated the gesture again, only to have it mirrored again.

“Well, that’s som..eth…”

Hank trailed off as two more aliens got off their ship - these were wearing much less intimidating, much more “open” suits; they were still very much sealed off, but around their heads, neck, arms and tail the suit was clear. It allowed Hank - and the now assembling police who were forming a hasty and panicked perimeter around their guests - to see exactly what they were dealing with.

“SIR - GET BACK NOW SIR.”

Hank turned his head to look behind him - blocking the intersection nearest him were two police cars, and behind the engine block and wheel well of each, an officer holding either a pistol or rifle.

“SIR! PLEASE GET BACK, NOW!”

Hank - for some reason unknown even to him, repeated the gesture once more to the _fucking dinosaurs_ before him. He watched with detached bemusement as the officer’s expressions changed - the aliens must have repeated the gesture once more.

“I think we’re talking, sir!”

“. . . STAY THERE.”

\- - -

“|I thought they spoke like that because we couldn’t figure out their language.|”

“?N$@@ F-b -/ -* x*wA!?”

Aq’rel’a kept cooing while Lt. K’uree stepped in line with the two recruits, mimicking the greeting gesture the local who hailed them performed.

“|Permissiontoactuallyspeaksir?|”

“|Hm? What, yes - you can _talk_ , I’m not going to actually kill you if you talk, recruit.|”

“|O-oh, I just thought-|”

“|That’s what a grunt isn’t supposed to do, recruit.|”

“|Y-yes sir. Should we be worried about those reinforcements?|” Tr’chr’’ said, nominally dipping his head towards a larger, splotch-painted vehicle pulling up and rapidly disgorging more aliens.

“|Not yet, I think. They’re still trying to establish a perimeter, so we have time before they bring out the heavy stuff.|”

“|Absolutely _fascinating.|_ _”_ Qur’rra’ra murmured, stepping up behind her security team. “|Their species absolutely refutes multiple biological theories we had about Intelligent life!|”

“|Qur’rra’ra, pull it back. You’re an _ambassador_ right now, not a xenobiologist; don’t spook them.|”

“|Sure thing, Lieutenant. Ah, we have on-board some… trinkets. Mostly woven cloth, but, do you feel… like we should present it now?|”

“|To our little friend?|”

“?Mmmm@mm#m//mmm%mm^**mmm.?”

\- - -

Hank let out a low whistle, mostly to himself, as he looked over the _fucking dinosaur_ that was standing before him. Well, “before” - it was still a ways away, but he could tell that it was a _big_ sucker, and didn’t look friendly at all. He spared a look back to the closest police to him, who were (1) exasperatedly on the radio with _someone,_ (2) rapidly exchanging their smaller arms for apparently some military-grade weapons if (3) the national guard troops taking up positions with them were any indicator.

“Um…Well.” Hank turned back to his new guests. “I uh. Welcome back! I guess? We kinda… _evolved_ ……while you were gone.”

The clear-helmeted dinosaur tilted it’s head and said something only to itself.

“I mean. Really, uh… it’s not our fault! Um. We’ve also kinda grown attached to Earth? So if it’s alright with you, you can’t have it back? Or you can take Australia if you want.”

Another semi-clear bodied alien made it’s way out of their ship, holding in it’s arms a shimmering, almost incandescent cloth of the most beautiful blue Hank had ever seen. It stood beside the other clear-hooded alien, and very slowly held the fabric forward.

Hank pointed at himself, and the alien shook the cloth just a little in seeming confirmation.

“CITIZEN.”

“Hojeezuswhatthefuck-”

The megaphone gave a little feedback before clearing, a soldier leaning into the open door of the police vehicle. “WHAT IS YOUR NAME.”

“Uh, HANK!” Hank hanked at the police car, “HANK HILLSBERG. YES, I KNOW.”

“…REALLY?”

“YES.” Hank sighed for the millionth time in his life.

“LISTEN. THEY SEEM EAGER TO WORK WITH SOMEONE, AND YOU GOT THEIR ATTENTION. YOU ARE GOING TO DO EXACTLY WHAT WE SAY, OK?”

“I FIGURED.”

“UNTIL OUR NEGOTIATORS COME HERE, YOU’RE THE STAND-IN. DO NOT MAKE ANY PROMISES, DO NOT TALK TO THEM, OK?”

“YEAH, SURE.”

“RIGHT.” The megaphone experienced a little feedback, and there was a pause, before the soldier continued. “WE WANT YOU TO ACCEPT THEIR GIFT AND THEN COME DIRECTLY TO THIS VEHICLE. DO NOT PUT THE GIFT ON, DO NOT GO WITH THEM INTO THEIR SHIP.”

“WASN’T PLANNING ON IT, CHIEF.” Hank yelled, rolling his shoulders. “ALSO, I SEEM TO REMEMBER SOMETHING IN HISTORY-”

“WHAT.”

“I SAID I SEEM TO REMEMBER SOMETHING IN HISTORY CLASS ABOUT TECHNOLOGICALLY ADVANCED EXPLORERS GIVING NATIVES BLANKETS. DIDN’T TURN OUT SO WELL FOR THE NATIVES.”

There was instant feedback from the megaphone, and then silence - well. Not _true_ silence, as Hank could hear the indistinct whisper-yelling of someone on the phone with _multiple important people_ _far above their paygrade_ , but compared to what was happening earlier it was close enough.

“…what even is happening with my life today.”

“Yip yip yip yip-” The trashcan began to protest.

“Look, Mipsy, I’m certain the ATF is somewhere nearby-”

\- - -

“|What seems to be the problem, do you think?|”

“|Hmm… They probably don’t want to offend us, for one. For two, I think our initial idea of showing we mean no harm by being kind to their civilian may be backfiring. It looks like their military is giving him orders now.|” Qur’rra’ra mused, as her counterpart Rkk’tkt shook the cloth once more.

“|Poor thing.|” Aq’rel’a cooed, watching the alien suddenly tap the cylinder next to him with his foot, causing him to wobble a bit.

“|Well. The best thing we can do is just wait it out; let’s not make assumptions.|”

\- - -

“We’re gonna be here forever, aren’t we? This is hell. I died and went to hell.”

“ALRIGHT HANK?”

Hank sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand. “YEAH. YEAH?”

“WE’RE NOT SURE IF YOU SHOULD TAKE THE BLANKET YET, SO JUST SIT TIGHT.”

Hank looked up at the alien, who shook the blanket once more - and decided then and there to take his life into his own hands.

“Nothing ventured nothing gained - FUCK IT, WE’RE DOING IT LIVE.”

“HANK? HANK- STOP!”

Hank squared his shoulders, prepared his best swagger, and began to jog forward.

\- - -

“|Ohygoodnessbythesoulsofthesaints-|”

“|Okay calm down calm down calm down-|”

“|This is _unreasonable-|_ _”_

The assembled Karnakian explorers watched the alien make his way forward in what looked like a natural wobbling, bouncing, _completely off-balance_ gait. His head was held high, maintaining eye contact with Rkk’tkt, who was now standing perfectly stock still, but his legs had to move so fast to cover… not much distance at all.

“|Lieutenant this is _wrong_ -|”

“|Just… they are… a proud and noble spe…species worthy of our respect, recruit.|” Lt. K’uree said, doing his damnest to hide his obvious smile. “|That is how the Great Spirit made them, and we sh-, we should respect that.|”

And Lt. K’uree did respect that for the next few seconds; it was when the alien wandered into range of his second sight that he absolutely gave up any pretenses with a groaned “|Come _on_.|”

“|It’s… their soul is full of starlight - it looks _exactly_ like a hatchling’s! _That_ _’s not fair at all_ -|” whined Aq’rel’a, and the entire squad immediately agreed. Positively vibrating with energy, the 5 of them waited, patiently, for the alien to make it’s way to them on it’s own, sweet hurried time.

And everything was going as smoothly as one could expect it to, which is where the Georgia DOT comes in. You see, unique amongst metro regions in the United States is the GDOT, because for some unknown reason the entire organization has a horrific fixation with metal plates. Have a pothole? Not with a plate covering it you don’t. Uneven root-bump in the road? A plate turns that sucker into a uniform speedbump. Part of the curb just ceased to exist? Plate that sumbitch up and go get some wings, fam, cause you deserve it. Who gives a shit if the steel juts up a good 2 inches from the rest of the ground, or that it’s got little off-putting handles on all corners that _absolutely shred tires_ , it’s fine. It’s fiiiiine.

And it was fine, until Hank didn’t see one of those handles, tripped, and faceplanted about 50 meters away from his goal.

“| _Oh no!_ |” chirped the entire away team, as one they all flinched at the sound of impact.

“Oh no.” Deadpanned the soldier, as he watched Humanity’s first impression literally fall flat.

“Why, God?” Groaned Hank, as face-down he blinked away the stars in his vision.

“|Aq’rel’a! J-Just pick him up _quickly_ and we’ll continue as if nothing happened- _|_ _”_ Lt. K’uree barked, the radiating embarrassment from the civilian taking it’s sweet time getting back up in-front of them hitting him full-force. “|Let’s help them save face at this moment-|”

_“|_ Aye, sir!|” Aq’rel’a said as she ran forward, skidding to a stop above the prone, small, wobbly starlit-soul’d alien. “|Hey, hey, it’s ok - It’s _ok_. We’re all… out of our depth here.|” She cooed, as she gripped him firmly - but gently - underneath his arms. Her talons sunk into his soft clothing with relative ease, and in one swift motion

She ripped both of Hank’s arms clean off.


	6. The answer is "Gun"

Time stood still.

The crew of _The Three Stones_ were watching multiple camera angles, so it was only by the sudden shocked silence of a few operators that the rest of the bridge even knew something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Security Chief Ri’tiki was under the second dropship, happily and completely unaware of any issues as his team demonstrated a very primitive, very basic child’s toy to the assembling soldiers - making slow, deliberate movements to illustrate that they meant no harm.

Lt. K’uree and his assembled away team were bemused as they watched on, mentally preparing themselves to soothe the natives’ ego once it came to accept their gift.

Aq’rel’a’s face was brimming with a smile of barely-suppressed joy, as she triumphantly lifted up what _should_ have been a healthy, if not a little disgruntled and embarrassed local. Her eyes glazed over as they tried to parse, for a split second, _where the rest of the local alien went_.

The assembled defense of the United States - from the simple beat cop to the National Guard veteran - lost their breath as they saw the speed, ease and **_savagery_** of the apparent attack-

And Hank?

Hank just screamed.

“ **OH JESUUSSHH GOOOOODDDDDHHH-** ”

“|Wh-what?|” Aq’rel’a sputtered, the warm blood of the local sapient coating her talons generously.

“|H-how-|” started xenobiologist-cum-ambassador Qur’rra’ra, as Rkk’tkt let the cloth slide limply from his arms.

“ ** _WASTE THAT MOTHERFUCKER_** -” yelled _someone,_ and the sound of automatic fire drowned out any argument to the contrary.

Bullets began to ricochet off of Aq’rel’a’s armor, the kinetic impacts registering on her body but not in her mind. Somewhere, far away, her suit automatically dispersed it’s small contingent of disposable shield drones, and the wireless power draw from her suit’s internal battery kicked on a timer on her HUD. Each of her three drones blossomed into an umbrella of light, moving to put themselves directly into the line of fire. She blinked as the sudden rapport of body-hits stopped, and looked down at the screaming, primitive, delicate and _innocent_ native, as its voice trailed off and the lights of its’ soul began to wail and flicker-

_‘_ ** _Fix it_** _’_ cried something deep inside her, and she bent down over the metal plate that held this innocent creature that needed to be healed, to be protected - she bent down and in one swift movement ripped the plate from it’s fasteners on the ground, and sprinted forward towards her confused compatriots.

“|SIR! DO WE RETURN FIRE-|”

“|BY THE BLACK VOID WHAT THE FUCK-|”

“|I JUST LOOKED AT THEM I DIDN’T MEAN TO INSULT THEM-|”

“ **|BY OUR ANCESTORS WHAT DID YOU DO-|** **”** Roared security chief Ri’tiki, the sound of weapons fire forcing him to yell. **“|I NEED A STATUS REPORT, NOW!|”**

“|DISPERSE THE SEEDS!|” Commanded Lt. K’uree over general comms, tapping his own suit to deploy his few drones. “|DEPLOY SHIP SEEDS AS WELL-|”

It was around this time that Aq’rel’a finally managed to make it over to Qur’rra’ra, almost bowling her over with her grisly delivery.

“|FIX IT FIX IT FIX IT FIX IT-|” Aq’rel’a chanted, slamming the grate - and Hank - into the arms of the xenobiologist. “|FIXITFIXIT **FIXIT _FIXIT_ -**|” she repeated, more urgently, as rifle fire finally overwhelmed one of her drones, causing it to burst into flame and electronic smoke.

“|AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH|” thought Qur’rra’ra aloud, as her assistant Rkk’tkt danced nervously in place/tried to dodge the few bodyshots that were successfully slamming against his significantly weaker hazard suit.

“| ** _FIXITFIXITFIXIT-_** |” chanted Aq’rel’a, being joined by Tr’chr’’ as he shakily held his non-lethal weapon, pointing it at the ground, flinching as the natives’ guns trained themselves on him. “| ** _FIXITFIXITFIXIT-_** |”

“|AAAAAHHHHHSTASIS! STASIS!|” Qur’rra’ra rounded on Rkk’tkt, taking the bloody and slower-moving delivery from Aq’rel’a’s hands, causing the male to squawk unceremoniously. “|WHEN NATIVE SPECIES ARE DAMAGED WE PUT THEM IN STASIS-|”

“| ** _FIXITFIXITFIXIT-_** |” chanted the entire away-team over the increasingly-frustrated sounds of security chief Ri’tiki, as the native soldiers finally pulled up a vehicle that had a top mounted gun which did not look friendly _at all_ -

“|AAAAAAAABUTWEHAVEN’DI’LINUTSINSTASIS-|” cried Rkk’tkt as he sprinted back up the ramp, diving headfirst into the boxes of trinkets and gifts that the First Squad had brought down, wholesale throwing out entire delicate packages down the open cargo bay, as Qur’rra’ra slowly but speedily rounded the ramp under him.

“|I DON’T GIVE A SOUL-CURSED DAMN ABOUT YOUR NUTS-|”

“| **WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO, SQUAD ONE.** |” Order-questioned security chief Ri’tiki, as he sprinted from under Squad Two’s dropship. Qur’rra’ra made the mistake of pausing - just for a moment - at the base of the ramp, and the sight of what she carried caused Ri’tiki to slowly come to a halt.

“|Wh.|” he said, staring incredulously at the dying native served up on a plate.

“|It’s… not what it looks like?|” ventured Qur’rra’ra, as an entire cart of trinkets launched itself out of Dropship One, landing a couple dozen meters behind the xenobiologist.

“|FIX IT GODDAMNIT-|” Ri’tiki roared, as every dropships’ shield drones were dispersed, dozens of lights blossoming to life as they drew from the much larger and deeper well of the ships’ reactors. The natives, being as primitive as they were, seemed to ignore the soldiers for the time being - and began to focus fire on the drones closest to them, deeming them more of a threat.

Their small arms were nothing more than annoyances, given the increased power the drones could draw from. The vehicle-mounted weapons, however…

“|I GOT IT~!|” Chirped Rkk’tkt as he held aloft in both claws a stasis generator, a waterfall of nuts and foodstuffs cascading down the ramp to land in the alien soil.

“|NOW NOW **NOW** -|” Yelled Qur’rra’ra, as she lifted the native up towards her fellow scientist to be bathed in a deep, blue light.

\- - - - -

“JESUS CHRIST-”

“I’M OUT - I’M OUT”

“RELOAD, GODDAMN YOU-”

“FRAG OUT!”

“GoddamnitgoddamnitGODDAMNIT-” rambled Ofc. Adam “Feisty” McCormick as he sunk behind his vehicle’s wheel well, rapidly searching his pockets for another full magazine as he ejected the expended one from his AR. Finding one - his last one - he slammed it home, and rose again to pour fire upon the invaders.

‘It _was_ going to be such a nice day, too.’ He thought, as he selected a flying drone at random and began to fire.

\- - - - -

“|Did you _see_ that-|”

“|Run through her suit matrix again, I want to get every bit of data on that interaction-|”

“|The compressive augments didn’t even activate-|”

“|What’s the burn time on those shields?|”

The bridge of _The Three Stones_ was in an uproar. At first, things were going swimmingly; data was pouring in, the natives were cautious - as they should be - but curious, and it seemed like the general gist of ‘we come in peace’ was being relayed effectively.

Then a rookie bisected a native on what seemed like an accident, and a battle started.

“|Get me a direct line to the Security Chief.|” Matriarch Tr’Nkwi said, talons rapidly moving over her own console. “|Send a direct order to the other dropships; they’re to abandon CRADLE and rendevous with _The Three Stones_ as soon as they’re able.|”

A point of view became prominent on-screen, and the roaring, shrieking trill of the security chief briefly drowned out everything else.

“|CAN YOU FIX IT?|” He roared, as the native was lowered down onto the decking of the dropship. Automatic clamps magnetically sealed the metal plate to the floor, and with the stasis generator locked in place -

Well. He wouldn’t be moving, at least.

“|Chief Ri’tiki!|”

“|Matriarch, begging your pardon, but everything’s really _really_ condemned to all kinds of hell right now-|” growled Ri’tiki, his helmet’s camera lowering to fixate on the natives’ face, twisted in pain. “|And I really don’t have time for a status update-|”

“|Chief Ri’tiki, I’m here to offer aid, not judgment.|” sighed the Matriarch, her data team working furiously on AI-assisted possibilities. “|We… we don’t believe the neophyte meant to hurt the native-|”

“|Oh, _right_ , just ripping off limbs is their custom of greeting-|”

“|From what we can tell, _Ri_ _’tiki|”_ growled the matriarch, “|her suit didn’t even provide tactile feedback until she hit the bone - or a bone analog.|”

The steel in the matriarch’s tone was enough warning for Ri’tiki to remember himself, and his point of view rose to look out the landing craft again. “|Well…shit.|”

The rookie in question scrambled up the ramp, small arms fire peppering the shield drones behind her, eyes wild and red with tears. Wordlessly and effortlessly the security chief picked her up and slammed her into a harness, locking it down automatically over her body.

“|Well… ** _shit_**.|” he repeated again, poking his head out to see the arrayed forces against him. The first armored vehicle with the gun mount was rapidly joined by another that was firing as it pulled up, its’ forces rapidly disgorging to fall behind the earlier, lighted vehicles. More weaponsfire, more drones slowly being overloaded. “|We’re not going to be able to stay here forever, and we really _really_ shouldn’t be kidnapping a local.|”

“|We know, we know. We’ve identified this symbol-|” with a tap Matriarch Tr’Nkwi pushed the information to every planet-side soldier, burning it into their HUDs.”|-as a possible place of healing. There’s a large building with this symbol half a league away from you, to your galactic North-by-north-west.|” Over the din of multiple voices shouting out status reports, Tr’Nkwi pushed more information to her troops. “|Chief Ri’tiki, I leave the decision to you on the ground; Do you think you can take him to their house of healing? _Hopefully_ by depositing it at their doctors’ theaters, they would realize we made a mistake-|”

“|Run half a league through _a hostile, urban, alien environment_ -|”

“|Or kidnap a local and watch their whole world burn.|”

Security Chief Ri’tiki growled, wordlessly, as EM Lord Itick’’t patched into the conversation.

“|Not to pour more kindling into the burner, but, I’m noticing a lot more activity heading your way. _A lot more_. That’s a… By the Eternal Soul, _that_ _’s a lot of aircraft_ …|”

Time stood still once more, as Ri’tiki’s mind raced.

“|RIGHT! **LISTEN UP!|** **”** Roared the chief, overriding everyone’s comms. “|ALL SQUADS WILL DISEMBARK WITH NONLETHAL WEAPONRY. WE ARE GOING TO FORM A PERIMETER AROUND OUR SHIPS.|”

Wordlessly, the two sealed dropships opened up, disgorging their contents.

“|WE ARE NOT GOING TO ENGAGE THEM WITH OUR WEAPONS. YOU ARE TO DEPLOY SHIELD DRONES AND SHIELD BARRICADES, AND NONVIOLENTLY PACIFY THE LOCAL POPULATION.|”

“| _Ri_ _’tiki-_ |” warned Matriarch Tr’Nkwi, the concern in her voice apparent.

“|THEY ARE PHYSICALLY WEAK. THIS MEANS YOU DO NOT, **UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE** , INTERACT WITH THEIR PHYSICAL BODIES. CONFISCATE WEAPONS, DISABLE VEHICLES.|” Ordered Ri’tiki, marching back down the ramp into enemy fire.

He stood there, drones forming a shield wall before him, bright angry flashes of light speaking to the amount of ordinance being pointed at him in a desperate bid to save their homes, their families… themselves.

“| **DO NOT FIRE YOUR WEAPONS**.|” He ordered, as his HUD notified him Squad One’s fireteam had off-ramped behind him. “| **WE WILL NOT HARM ANY MORE OF THEM.** OUR GOAL IS TO ESCORT A WOUNDED ALIEN LOCAL TO THEIR MEDICAL CENTER AND THEN RETURN TO THE SHIPS - AND THEN WE WILL IMMEDIATELY RETREAT. **AM I UNDERSTOOD?** |”

“| **SIR YES SIR** |”

With a defiant roar, they charged.

\- - - -

“FOCUS FIRE ON THE RAMP-”

“YES SIR! YES - THEY KILLED A CIVILIAN WHEN HE FELL. YES-”

“MORE OF THE FUCKS ARE COMING OUT-”

“NO THE HOUSES **ARE NOT CLEAR! I REPEAT, CIVILIANS ARE IN THE A.O.-** ”

“ ** _WHERE IS OUR GODDAMN AIR SUPPORT-_** ** _”_**

“FRAG OUT-”

Sgt. Hernandez screamed into his radio over the sound of the two .50 cals, the constant rapport of gunfire forming a chaotic background white noise. There was an almost imperceptible pause - almost a collective inhalation of breath, and then the weaponsfire somehow _increased_ in volume… and urgency.

“GODDAMNITGODDAMNIT **GODDAMNIT** -”

“ **FOCUS FIRE ON THE RIGHT-** ”

“ **FRAG OUT - DANGER CLOSE-** ”

Sgt. Miguel Hernandez looked up from his Humvee’s radio console to see a squad of aliens, clad in all black, _sprinting_ towards his position. He had just enough time to put down his radio and pick up his rifle when one of them _leapt_ , landing on the hood of his vehicle - and crushing it utterly. Hernandez dove for the pavement as the xenos reared back and pulled the MG apart - his gunner switching to his M4 and emptying a clip into it’s head… to seemingly no effect. With it’s other arm it darted forward and grabbed his rifle, pulling it effortlessly out of his hands.

Then they just stared at each other for a few moments, waiting.

Everyone was waiting.

“…Fuck you.” Pvt. Kowalski spat, as the alien crushed his service rifle in one hand, hopping off of the vehicle to grip another soldier’s discharging weapon.

“GIVE-GIVE THAT BACK! **NOOOOO** -”

In a confused daze Sgt. Hernandez turned to look at the police line - an officer was clutching his weapon with both arms and a leg - which is _obviously_ against the manual of arms - and his corresponding xeno just… started to shake him off, like a particularly feisty cat.

“I-IT’S MINE GOD DAMN Y-” the officer cried before his grip failed, falling on his back with an unceremonious thud. He pulled out his service pistol and was able to fire just a couple rounds before a gauntleted fist closed over the barrel and pulled it effortlessly from his grip. The small being then reached into _another_ pocket and produced an even smaller weapon and fired a few more rounds-

Amazingly, _delicately_ , the alien pinched the slide between two claws and began to pull-

“ _Stooooooooooop_ -”

Sgt. Hernandez looked around as a dozen aliens overran their position, destroyed their weapons, and then… just left them be.

“…what. What?”

\- - - - -

“|It keeps _punching_ me, sir.|” Complained Tr’chr’’, as the alien he had just disarmed - and he cringed internally at that tasteless pun - three times started to smack him with his appendages.

“|You’ll live, Private.|” Murmured Lt. K’uree, his suit dispensing painkillers to compensate for the kinetic force of multiple-rounds-to-the-helmet.

“|Well what’s the - _no biting_ -|” chided Tr’chr’’, as his nearby security-force alien attempted to gnaw on his forearm. “|No, _stop_ \- what’s the plan now?|”

“|We corral them under the ship.|” Responded Chief Ri’tiki, causing the pair to jump. “|Hopefully showing that we haven’t murdered any other souls will calm them down.|”

“|…Hostages, sir?|”

Ri’tiki sighed. “|We have to buy time, Lieutenant.|”

“|Forgive me for saying, but I just don’t think this is the right coinage, sir.|” Lt. K’uree said.

The two officers shared a knowing look, before the rapport of more gunfire forced them to move once more among the aliens, who had begun to raise their arms in an unknown gesture.


	7. Just play dead?

“…with 11 Alive, reporting live with an emergency broadcast from the parking deck at Tech Square. This is the closest that the military will let us get, and even here if we’re asked to evacuate we will have to move. Military and Police officials are urging people to stay indoors – if you’re within the city itself you are to shelter in place, I repeat – Stay indoors, shelter in place. If you’re in Atlanta, don’t try to commute home, don’t get on the roads. MARTA is not running, and I-75, I-85, I-285, I-20 are all shut down for military use only- If you HAVE to travel, stick to surface streets or you will be pulled over and detained, but really Police officials are asking everyone to stay out of the metro area and off the roa-”

The reporter uddenly looked off into the distance, hesitating for just a moment.

“…y-yes, that sounds like gunfire. Oh God, that is definitely gunfire – we need to go-”

* * *

“Alright, alright, I’m moving. Fuck.” Sgt. Hernandez said, fingers interlocked on his head as he was nudged towards the alien spacecraft.

Nudge was as close a word as he could use, given the circumstances; the alien…raptor-thing would lower it’s body and then just push against him with the top of it’s helmet, guiding them all to the same spot. Running was not only ill-advised, but ineffective; as soon as you got 5 steps you’d run into a wall of alien – again, literally, they’d just let you bounce off of ‘em – and then you’d get the head-nudge treatment once you got back up.

“Hey Twitch.”

Sgt. Hernandez turned to his battle buddy, Pvt. Kowalski, as he tilted his head towards the closest invader.

“Yeah?”

“You realize they haven’t taken our knives, right?”

“Well don’t fucking tell them that.” Hernandez hissed, tilting his head to the alien shepherding his squad.

“I figure they don’t know our language – else they would’ve just… told us to comply or surrender or somethin, so I figure we can talk about ‘em easy.”

“That’s… that’s actually a good point. You realize the core doesn’t promote you for thinking, right?”

“Count of three we jump the fucker?” Pvt. Smith ventured, shrugging.

“With our knives? Shit. Wait, don’t you have a tomahawk, actually?” Sgt. Hernandez said, lowering his arms to walk more ‘casually’.

“Yep.” Pvt. Kowalski responded, walking in lock-step with his squad. “On three?”

“Yeah. One.”

The group slowed down a bit.

“Two.”

An inhalation of breath.

“Three.”

They turned and jumped as one.

* * *

“|Now I know you want to run away, and I get that, I really do, but you have to stay with the group.|” Lectured Tr’chr’’, mostly to himself since (1) his suit wasn’t broadcasting his words to his new captives/protectorates, and (2) because even if it was, it’s not like they could understand each other. The hope was that in a few hours, if not a day ,they could figure out enough of the language to do basic communication, explain this was all a terrible misunderstanding, and then start over.

Maybe. I mean, it was just one city, it’s not like the entire planet wa-

“RRRAH!”

“|AAAAHHH|”

As one his three smaller charges that needed-protected pivoted and unsheathed various blades and leapt onto him, wrapping their bodies around his limbs and driving their blades into his armor with savage ferocity.

“|Aaaaaahhh….AAH? Ah… UH. HELP?! Lieutenant?!|” Tr’chr’’ whined, slowly turning towards his commanding officer as the natives kept stabbing his body, their blades connecting with his armor with light _ptink_ sounds.

“|Just- Tr’chr’’, what did you do now?!|” Lt. K’uree sighed, turning away from perimeter guard to look at the scene unfolding behind him.

“|Sir, this isn’t my- hey don’t stab down there – look they just jumped me I didn’t do anything!|” Tr’chr’’complained, making sure not to move too much as the natives crawled over him, attempting to stab and hack at his joints, limbs, head-

“|Can you shake them off?|”

“|I don’t want to hurt them though! What if they land on each other – with bladed weapons?|”

“|I… I don’t know! Think of something yourself! But if you have to stand there until their sun burns out and let them stab you, you do it!|”

Tr’chr’’ stood stock still for a few moments before an idea took hold.

Truth be told, it was a terrible, awful, wonderful idea, born out of desperation and exasperation. He decided then and there that if the natives wanted a body he’d give them exactly that.

* * *

“FUCK. YOU. FUCK. YOU.” Grunted Sgt. Hernandez as he summoned all his CQC training, stabbing at joints, slashing at the neck, driving his knife under the arms of the invader that was easily carrying the weight of him and his squad. Speaking of his squad, they were all doing their best as well, trying to drive their blades into supposed weak spots wherever they could find them.

Pvt. Kowalski was making some very interesting stabbing choices with his blade, Sgt. Hernandez reflected, as he paused a moment to catch his breath.

That pause was all the alien invader needed – with a gentle but quick movement it reached up and gripped his knife, wrenching it free from his hands – and dropping him right on his back in the process.

“FUCK!” Hernandez scrambled backwards, bracing for a savage attack. “GET-…get… off…me?”

The soldiers paused for a moment as the alien held the blade before him, then gently tucked it under his forearm, and began to…

* * *

“|For yea, the night was long ‘ere the watch caught me, as I stole the stars from the sky and your mind.|”

Tr’chr’’ trilled, pulling upon his years of appreciation of philosophy and theater, and placed the knife into his ‘heart’.

“|But what shall I say as the will of the infinite strikes? To defy the gods themselves is folly, for all our steps are preordained, and our thoughts ordered as if in stone-|”

Lt. K’uree, and really the rest of the away team (and their various alien captives), just stopped what they were doing and watched an impromptu performance of the old stage play “The Death of the King of Bandits”.

“|-Nay! I take my life in folly then!|” Tr’chr’’ cried dramatically, head raised in defiance to the sky, tail dropped to the earth in dramatic fashion. “|-For the gods may have stolen my life, but I – I steal my death from them! And with this last act!|”

Tr’chr’’ slowly looked around and gently kneeled, letting the alien soldiers step off of him as he then laid out on the ground, head craned under his wing in a ‘death throe, “|And with this last act, I die!|”

Tr’chr’’ laid out on the alien soil under the alien sun with an alien knife ‘buried’ in his heart with alien soldiers standing around his ‘dead’ body, quite confused as to what just happened and looking a bit sheepish, to be honest. One of them half-heartedly kicked his body, only to get a dismissive wave in response.

“|…Tr’chr’’, I fucking hate y-|”

And it was then that the Javelin missile fired by the rapidly-assembling United States Military re-enforcements connected with Lt. K’uree’s suit-drone, rapidly overloading it’s shields and causing the explosive pressure-wave to slam into the commanding officer, taking his consciousness with it.

* * *

The second verse was much like the first.

Barring the unfortunate munitions-caused concussion of Lt. K’uree and a mis-timed jump by an overzealous rookie that saw him leap off of a retaining wall, the second wave was dispatched with just as much speed and care as the first responders. Vehicles were destroyed – and moved to make impromptu roadblocks – weapons confiscated and neutralized, and soldiers…

…well ‘herded’ is a word you could use. The US Military wouldn’t like you to use that word, but it’s applicable.

“|Nnntthhh.|” Lt. K’uree moaned, his head throbbing. He arched his back against an unyielding floor and rolled onto his side, cracking an eye open slowly.

Hank’s frozen, screaming face filled his vision.

“|GUH!|” K’uree gasped, rapidly regaining consciousness as his suit’s diagnostics adjusted their drug-and-nanite cocktail, the fuzz quickly receding from his mind. “|I’m…in the dropship?|”

“|Yes sir.|”

“|Aq’rel’a?|” Lt. Murmured, before sitting up properly on the ship’s flooring. “|Right, right…how are you holding up?|”

“|I’m. . .|” Aq’rel’a trailed off as she stared at the frozen local. “|I’m here.|”

“|It’s… we’ve never seen this before, never done this before – it’s not in the books, no one can blame you. It’s not your fault.|”

Aq’rel’a let out a mirthless chuckle and remained unmoving, staring at her crime. “|And? Will the scribes of history look upon me favorably? Will their own history forgive me? Will this get better – or have I damned us to a war of generations?|”

Lt. K’uree sighed. “|If you were truly guilty – truly, truly guilty, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be dead.|”

“|I wish that, now, sometimes.|”

“|Don’t.|”

The three of them sat there, in silence, sharing a quiet moment.

Well. I mean, as much as Hank could willingly share a moment, given that his perception of time had frozen in a moment of terror and he was a horrific, twisted sculpture of pain and suffering, but yanno. He tried, he really did.

“|So what have I missed?|”

Aq’rel’a shrugged dismissively. “|The multiplication of my sin. More soldiers come, more are disarmed. We’re running out of drones – and suit meds. They’ve taken to fortifying a perimeter outside of our own, and their snipers are good shots. That’s not counting their portable missiles, or a strafing run we get every so often.|”

“|And what-|” K’uree grunted, standing up on shaky feet. “|-has our commander decided? Are we to sit and die?|”

“|Well. We can’t advance to their hospital without more support-|”

Lt. K’uree blinked and thumbed on his HUD with a mental command, a laundry-list of IFF identification icons scrolling on.

“|…No. Surely-|”

“|115. We have 115 of their soldiers and guards within our perimeter, protected under our ship’s shields. We can’t keep them hostage and return…|” Aq’rel’a trailed off, studying the local’s face. “|No more casualties on their side, though, thankfully. You were injured, and there’s a triage unit for a couple other soldiers, but…|”

“|Surely they’ll realize we’ve broken our talons for this fight-|”

“|I don’t know.|” Aq’rel’a said, falling into her thoughts once more. “|I don’t know.|”


	8. The hard times

The dropship rocked back and forth as it was cradled for the first time in a long time by true atmosphere; the high-altitude winds began to buffet the smaller craft as it began drifting down to GATEBELL, performing obvious, wide arcs to their target.

There was no conversation.

By now, every soul aboard _The Three Stones_ had realized what happened; the unfortunate and uncontrollable spiral out of control, the innocent accident, the panicked response-

Historians for centuries, nay, _millenia_ , would be analyzing each and every one of their moves down to the most minute detail, and the burden of history weighted them down more than their suits ever could.

The beep of a warning alarm interrupted all conversation, and the pilot looked down – only for a moment.

“|We’ve been intercepted… LIVE FIRE LIVE FIRE-|”

The ship rocked a bit back and forth as more atmosphere surrounded it, punching through clouds and wind and sky, its’ slow and ponderous descent rapidly turning more and more vertical as the ship picked up speed, aided by CRADLE’s gravity well. The artificial gravity dampeners kicked in as best they could – there was still an uncomfortable pressure placed on the harnesses as soldiers’ bodies pressed against them, the impromptu evasive maneuver’s momentum being borne by it’s living cargo. The only sound over the uncomfortable grunts and frenzied whispered prayers of the soldiers in the dropship were the overlapping warning signals from the cockpit.

However, the AIM-120 AMRAMM did **not** have this problem of uncomfortable inertia, what with being a mix of advanced electronics, a rocket engine and a **lot** of explosives.

“|Deploying hull shield-|”

With a hum so deep they could _feel_ it, the Survey Dropship was wrapped in a solid blue glow, it’s shields now taking the brunt of atmospheric re-entry as flames licked against the barrier. Like a spaceship in miniature it fell, and a half-dozen missiles rose to meet it.

“|BRACE. BRACE. BRA-|”

There was a deafening explosion, and the ship rocked violently back and forth – and then another, and another, all in such quick succession that it appeared to be one massive volley.

More warning lights. More automated complaints. More pilot maneuvers.

Another series of explosions detonated against the ship’s shields, as through the clouds the next wave of Karnakian reinforcements plummeted desperately through the evening air, trailing light and fire.

– – – –

“FOX-3.”

77th Fighter Squadron _Gamblers_ watched as their missiles streaked towards the incoming spacecraft, their HUDs pumping information to each pilot within the flight.

“Connect – Good hit, good hit.”

“Goddamnit, they’re still dropping-”

“ _Bones1-1_ this is _Gambler1-1 –_ Captain Washington speaking, all hits, we are WINCHESTER. Any luck?”

“Negative. Good Hits, no Kills.”

“Command this is _Gambler1-1_. All hits, we are WINCHESTER, no kills. X-Rays have dropped below engagement floor of 3-clicks, requesting orders.”

“Affirmative _Gamblers_ , return and re-arm.”

– – – –

Pilot Tr’k’’i had to give it to these primitives; although their weapons weren’t _terribly_ impressive, they were at least very well trained with their use. Ever since he broke atmosphere there had been some sort of obstacle put in his path; be it the ineffective-yet-still-annoying EM warfare, the air-to-air missiles, or now-

– now apparently the missiles were coming from the _ground_.

“|Oh _Joy_.|” he deadpanned, as the ground-to-air missiles slammed into the shielding mere centimeters from his cockpit, bathing all his windows and viewscreens in fire and light.

“|PREPARE FOR HOT DROP, REPEAT. HOT DROP.|” Tr’k’’i barked over the intercom, the alien city looming large in his windows. Another volley of missiles rose to meet him, and he banked slightly, letting them hit the underside shielding of his craft. With practiced motions he ticked off several subroutines, disengaging multiple fail-safes. It was going to be quick, uncomfortable, and sloppy – but the natives were leaving him no choice.

Just a few hundred meters above the drop site he pulled up, hard, blowing out the magnetic ramp locks with kinetic charges. His ship’s momentum drove the craft further down, even with the nose of the ship pointed straight up, and just as the ramp sparked against the surface of the paved roads he cut out the shields-

-and disengaged every harness lock at once.

As his ship’s ramp made furrows into the native soil 3 dozen fresh recruits poured out of the unloading bay, their combat harnesses taking the brunt of the impact with the ground, their own bodies making lighter divots and skids into the soil. With the all-clear indicator lit, Tr’k’’i ejected his ship’s shield drones – their batteries automatically kicking in to protect themselves from ground impact – and kicked on his afterburners, gaining momentum and altitude.

The first FIM-92 Stinger to slam into his hull before his shield could be cycled back on was what he’d call an unfortunate irritant.

The other 7 that immediately followed – the ones fired from rooftops, from alleyways, from car parks and street corners, would be what he’d call an _absolute catastrophe_.

“|For **FUCK** **’S** **SAKE** -|” Tr’k’’i cursed over increasingly earnest and overlapping warning indicators, working furiously to push power to his shielding, to increase his momentum to move out of range-

He wasn’t gaining altitude.

Tr’k’’i cycled an increasingly-impotent hull shield as he drifted almost due east, the orange lights of the city below him flickering in and out of his view.

Impact. Shield was up. He drifted East, engines smoking.

Impact. Shield was up. Ailerons were unresponsive, and another alert blocked his view.

Impact. Although his nose was up, pointed at the stars – at his home – hope died in his heart as he suddenly listed hard to the right. Tr’k’’is’ survey dropship was built to withstand multiple types of damage, from atmospheric hazards to aggravated fauna, but it’s designers _never_ meant for it to take this kind of abuse.

His craft spun out of control, gimbaled engines kicking on and off in a futile attempt to right his ship. With a surprising amount of calm he tapped on his console, opening up a wide-band comms channel as he watched the hostile alien world spin around him.

“|STLFLARE. STLFLARE. STLFLARE. This is dropship _SECOND HELPING_. I have been shot down. Crash point estimate 30 leagues East from GATEBELL Drop point One. Repeat. This is dropship _SECOND HELPING_. Crash point 30 leagues East from GATEBELL Drop Point One. Will establish Sanctuary and shelter in place.|”

He tapped another button on his console, and a recording of his voice began to repeat the message, on all bands.

 _“|At least they’ve stopped shooting at me._ |” he thought, right as his ship slammed into the side of a gray mountain.

– – – –

“FUCK YEAH! FUCK. YEAH!”

“Command this is _Gambler1-1_ , did we catch that on video?”

“Negative, _Gambler1-1_. What happened?”

“Some lucky gropos fucks shot one of the bastards down!”

“ _Gambler1-1_ , please advise. Where is the enemy craft?”

“Looks like… Stone Mountain – Yeah, slammed right into the general.”

“Copy that, _Gambler1-1_. Mission hasn’t changed; get back to base, reload, rearm, and then establish air superiority over the downed craft.”

“Roger that.”

– – – –

“|By all souls-|” Lt. K’uree whispered, listening to the STLFLARE broadcast drown out all communications, before suddenly and abruptly being silenced.

Aq’rel’a laughed mirthlessly, her gaze never leaving that of the frozen natives’.

“|We’ve got to get off of this planet.|”

“|We should have never come _to_ this planet.|”

“|That may be-|” grunted K’uree as he stood, wobbling to his feet. “|But here we are. ‘ _The past is stone, the future is water_ ’ after all.|”

Aq’rel’a murmured a half-committed response as K’uree ran down the landing ramp yet again, the new umbrella of drones already being peppered with arms fire of various strength, high above his head.

“|Chief? Chief Ri’tiki?|”

“|Center point, Lieutenant.|”

Lt. K’uree pivoted at the bottom of the ramp, jogging towards the impromptu POW camp.

Well. It’s a POW camp _now_ , what with all the shenanigans and goings on. If everyone would just stop shooting for a few minutes, K’uree was _sure_ that they could clear up this misunderstanding and get things back on tra-

“|Lieutenant!|”

“|Mm? Yes Sir?|”

Security Chief Ri’tiki tilted his head slightly at the Lt., pausing a moment before continuing. “|…as I was saying before you interrupted me, dropship _Second Helping_ has landed _mostly_ intact about 30 leagues due East of here, which means the entire point of getting reinforced has just been proven moot. I need you to lead these-|” Ri’tiki gestured broadly to the 3 dozen fresh recruits, standing at attention around an even _larger_ group of very disgruntled natives. “|-soldiers through hostile territory, rescue the pilot, scuttle the ship-|”

“|Scuttle it, sir?|”

“|We _can_ _’t_ let these natives get such technology. Not only would it totally skew their development, but – K’uree, you’ve seen a dynamic capacitor failure. Do you think they have the materials to contain that blast?|”

“|…I mean, the mountain would stop at least half of it, maybe-|”

“| ** _Lieutenant_**.|”

“|Sorry sir. I guess I got my brains knocked around harder than I thought. Take the troops, rescue the pilot, scuttle the ship. Anything else?|”

“|Yes. Don’t die. I don’t need any more corpses.|”

Lt. K’uree suddenly found himself stone-cold sober.

“|Any _more_ , sir?|”

“|…move quick. Don’t let their larger armored vehicle-cannons hit you… a drone can only do so much.|”

“|…Yes, sir.|”

“|Nonlethal.|”

“|Yes, sir.|”

– – – – –

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi was absolutely going dull, and that was the beginning and end of that conversation. There was nothing to help it, and as she idly pulled loose another feather – one that molted due to stress, as opposed to age – she wondered if she’d go bald first.

“|Dropship _SECOND HELPING_ has crashed, Matriarch. No souls lost, but the ship is un-salvageable… at least given these readings.|” Notified Itick’’t, and Tr’Nkwi couldn’t help but let out a very improper, joyless laugh.

“|But of _course_ it did. Of **_course_**. No, obviously they haven’t developed the technology to colonize their sister planet because they’ve apparently just poured it all into their _military_ -|”

“|Matron?|” questioned Navigator Rr’it’sqk, turning slightly in her console.

“|That was our last _unarmed_ dropship, Navigator.|” sighed the Matriarch, tapping through a few command alerts on her station. “|Which means that we’ll need to send another ship, potentially with _more_ souls, down to reinforce our initial position.|”

“|I…I don’t-|”

“|It means I’m ordering armed landing craft, filled with soldiers, to establish a militant perimeter on an alien world, Navigator.|”

Navigator Rr’it’sqk blinked as the implication hit her, and the Matriarch grinned an unsettling grin.

“|Ah, _there_ it is-|”

“|S-surely there’s another way-|”

“|Sure. Surrender, let these primitives wipe out everyone we sent down – what are we at now? 12 dead, 40 wounded to some degree, another 100 engaging? Let them die and the natives have our technology; how would that damage their own world? How could they even _remotely begin_ to safely deconstruct those bloody gifts?|”

The bridge remained quiet as the Matriarch continued her rant, as confession is good for the soul.

“|Maybe we let them die regardless – remotely detonate our dropships’ drives, wiping out another 80 leagues of their city? Vaporize our friends and family, as well as those noble defenders who surrendered – not counting the civilians! How many souls… and then what? We leave? We stay, and the fleet comes, and _then what_?|”

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi’s hind-claws were tapping against the ground, a nervous tic that was far below her station – and was the only sound that broke the silence between rants.

“|The first soul _must_ have a sense of humor, or those _idiots_ of the Seven Rings are **_right_** and I’m suffering now for some sin I did in a past life-|”

“|Matriarch.|” Engineer Strri’rii said, as matter-of-factly as you please. The simple statement was enough to break Tr’Nkwi’s thoughts, and she paused.

“|I… I’m sorry.|”

“|We’re in uncharted territory, Matriarch. It’s understandable.|” Strri’rii bowed his head a little, before continuing. “|However, if I may – I think we’re going about this incorrectly.|”

“|Oh?|”

Lead Engineer Strri’rii simply responded by pulling up a significant amount of data on one of the main screens – filtering it out to weapons impact, impacts-per-second, locations of enemy positions-

“|Strri’rii…|”

“|’ _If we are to be damned, and to nest in darkness, let us not do so on a gentle sin._ ’ If we send the rest of our security staff-|”

“|If we do that then all pretext is gone and this _is_ an unsanctioned military engagement-|”

“| _If_ we do that then we’ll overwhelm their local defenses. We’ll wipe out their ability to strike us from the ground, and our combat ships can withstand the damage from the air – Matriarch, with all due respect, because our claws are broken we can neither knead roots _or_ defend the hearth.|”

Strri’rii’s voice echoed unchallenged in the bridge, and he continued unabated.

“|We send everything we have. We **_remain non-lethal_** , but we disable what we can – be it with EM Warfare, as Itick’’t might be able to provide, by strategic, _quilltip_ weapons fire – or just by soaking up their ammunition until they run out. We accomplish Security Chief Ri’tikis’ goals, we rescue our people, we save theirs, we leave. Yes, this is a blow to their people’s pride, and _yes_ , this becomes a problem for our ambassadors, and _yes_ we’re all probably going to be under a Confessors’ gaze for the next ten-score years, but it stops…|” Strri’rii waved his hand at the monitors, all of which showed various scenes of destruction. “|… _this_.|”

Matriarch Tr’Nkwi ran her fingers through her feathers, down and across her neck. She pulled her hand away and looked down – at least a dozen, maybe two dozen of her beautiful plumes rested there. With an unbidden exhalation of breath they scattered, and she laughed.

She laughed as the stress finally got to her.

She laughed as she approved Chief Engineer Strri’rii’s desperate, _terrible_ idea.

She laughed as more of her flock – her children, fresh faced and young, full of promise, hopes, fears, aspirations and failings – geared up for battle.

She laughed as her combat ships warmed their engines, as siblings and co-workers and lovers filled with varied and rich lives, with untold stories and unsung songs, filled the bellies of those beasts.

She laughed as her mind darkly wandered to those she would lose and those she had already lost – each one a tragedy; the years and years of toil and sweat and mistakes and successes in the making, those lives not just taken, but broken in their prime.

She laughed until the tears fell, and then she just cried.


	9. SPACE POPE BATTLE

“|-he would _absolutely_ kick Lord N’iirie’s ass. No doubt about it-|”

Ki’ittri, designated APOSTLE, rolled his eyes at the squad chatter over the comms. It was borderline distracting as he focused on doing his best to do one final final _final_ check of his equipment in the pod as well as the pod itself. He had more time to burn than things to do, so he tended to repeat processes… over and over again. A soldier caught unawares is a dead soldier, after all, and there are worse ways to pass the time before a potential clash with an unknown alien species than triple-checking your gear.

You could, for instance, be engaging in the time-honored and **_extremely_** _**heretical**_ tradition of Diarch Battle.

“|No, NO. With _those_ talons?|” Ch’rk’’a, nee TESTAMENT said, her voice coming out a little more shrill than she intended.

“|Oh wait we’re going just soul-given now? In that case, yes, Lord Tri’’ik’I’ would win, but come _on_ , he’s got like an additional 5 feet on anyone else!|” Rritikrea, nee HERETIC capitulated, and Ki’ittri could just _feel_ her eyes roll all the way over here.

“|Well next time pick the freak Diarch and you’ll win every time.|”

“|Shut up, Tc’rki’.|” TESTAMENT and HERETIC responded at once, causing the whole squad to break out into laughter. It was good, too – the laughter that is, not the game. The **_extremely heretical_** tradition of Diarch Battle has gone back ever since there _was_ a set of Diarchs, and has been banned for almost as long. Officially it still was, across the entire Galaxy, and anyone found participating in such an **_extremely heretical_ **tradition would have to spend a good month in soul-searching, no-media-privileges penance, with only the barest and hardest of porridges or cereals to eat. This ancient law extended up and down the command chain, regardless of who you were, and punishment was added to or reduced during various periods of society, depending on exactly _how_ heretical such a game was considered amongst the populace and the ruling class at large.

Unfortunately, it was never enforced, and it was **_especially_** never-enforced when the Diarchs themselves would engage in such a debate after a few drinks with their mics still hot, but it’s at least good to have it on paper.

“|VANGUARD, PREACHER? Anyth-|”

A low, off-key tonal note greeted APOSTLE over the communication channel, and it was quickly joined with the rest of his squad for a playful congregational harmonic of “you’re being an uptight nerd”.

“|Come _on_ , Ki’ittri. Do we have to switch to callsigns _now_?|” whined A’it’kai/VANGUARD, the sound of metallic clacking in the background evidence that he, _somehow_ , smuggled a cipher roll and was busy playing with it as opposed to doing literally anything else. “|We’re still within the Crusade’s formation, for All-soul’s sake.|”

“|Yes, and we wouldn’t be _in these shock pods_ if we weren’t about to warp out of system! We might as well get used to our callsigns and get ready for deployment-|”

“|One, that was three hours ago.|” Ru’u’’ii/PREACHER interrupted, ticking points off on her fingers. “|Two, this probably won’t become anything because who wants to go to war with an unknown unknown-|”

“|We should not presume to understand the alien mind-|”

“| **Three-** |” Ru’u’’ii interrupted, taking some glee in cutting off her CO, “|-if anything _does_ happen we’re most likely going to be dealing with ship-to-ship combat – _if_ their own armada shows up, and Four-|”

Ru’u’’ii sighed. “|If we _do_ drop we’ll probably just be fighting farmers. What fun is that?|”

“| _Fun_ has nothing to do with this. Did you see their physiology? Bipedal, strong upper body strength. Add hydraulics to that and-|”

“|And we’re going to what seems to be a _farming colony_ , Ki’ittri! How many of them would be armed – or in _combat suits?!_ It’s not like they’re going to suddenly jump on us and rip our arms off!|”

“|…I just want us to be prepared and safe-|”

“|Awww. I love you too, Sarge, but I’ve already got a husband-|” Rritikrea/HERETIC purred over the comms, before bursting out into laughter again.

“|Where is the remote-destruct button? It seems like Rritikrea’s pod just got captured by enemy combatants during planetfall-|”

The same congretory tone of “you’re being an uptight nerd, nerd” blasted through his squad comms, and Ki’ittri smiled to himself.

* * *

The damnedest thing of all of this was that Lt. K’uree could _see_ them with his soulsight, but he couldn’t let them _know_ he saw them.

Every so often one of these delicate aliens would dart between trees, or peek over a hill, or around the side of a building or barrier, soft smudges of light from so far away as bright as day in the pitch black of the planet’s night. All this happened around him, a distracting persistent presence, but he had to continue to order his troops as if they were totally enshrouded. He was out, oblivious, _vulnerable_ in the open. Animals protested, then were silenced – some of the smarter ones not interrupting his, or his enemy troop’s march forward. His suit’s HUD was helpful in tracking them as they moved about, these new soldiers that did not speak with words but with their limbs, who moved as almost one unit, silently, between buildings and brush.

It was obvious they had moved into some sort of residential district, as the open warfare near their drop ships had dissipated into potshots as they broke through the perimeter, and eventually nothing save for the random well-armed local who was paying attention and got off a few rounds. A few of the other natives would watch them with wide eyes, or with some device pointed through the window – his HUD did not detect any radiation, and so idly K’uree figured they were cameras or recording devices of some kind. With this theory in mind, he acted accordingly – hurting none, moving swiftly, making sure not to menace the populace or to take anything. He and his troops did their best to act a shadow in this planet’s dark night, and to make no track and take nothing with them.

Nothing, of course, except for these troops who silently moved, and who would not be denied this hunt.

Lt. K’uree was impressed. As he “randomly” decided to divert his squad down a side-road as opposed to walk into the ambush set before him, he thought he almost heard some cursing – what passed for cursing, given these aliens’ language, that is – and then saw them move out of the side of his vision.

“|Talon 2, move down the hill.|”

“|Yes sir.|” the squad leader replied – K’uree hadn’t even bothered to check his name, his time had been so pressed, but he sounded young. He was busy staring intently away from the small whisp of hazy light that peered at him, half-covered by this planet’s flora, when Talon 2 moved down the hill.

About a kilometer away down GA State Route 10, the M1A3 Abrams tank had a clear line of sight, and fired a single HEAT round.

“|WHAT THE -|” was all that Talon 2 Squad Leader was able to say before the HEAT round penetrated his hardsuit, blew through the other side and hit the retaining wall of the highway behind him, detonating. The concussive blast alone was enough to knock the rest of his squad to the ground… about 10 meters away.

“|TALON ONE, GET THE SURVIVORS – TALON THREE, COVERING FIRE-|”

Lt. K’uree had found, much to his chagrin, that his ship’s non-lethal armament was terrifying, effective, and apparently _effectively terrifying_ when it came to combating the natives. He raised his AKW long rifle and fired a few shots, a microlattice of blades neatly slicing a dozen-molecule thin wafer of the tungsten bar sitting inside the weapon, then propelling it forward with electromagnetic fury, then repeating this a half-hundred times in that second. As it left the barrel with a target over a half-league away it remained focused as opposed to spreading out, the weapons’ on-board computer attempting to maintain as much structure as possible to compensate for such a vast distance.

For _his_ people, a spread AKW wafer at medium range felt like getting gut-punched over a significant portion of your body.

For _these aliens_ however it was undoubtedly lethal; a few idle rounds blew apart tires and dented in non-combat vehicles. Focused fire destroyed treads, both he and one very unlucky patrol had discovered when they chanced upon each other.

As such, focused fire also spooked their armor, and with a roar of engines he could hear from this distance the metallic beast sped in reverse, moving behind another building – and out of sight.

“|TAKE THEM AND GO UP-|”

“|SIR WE HAVE BODIES-|”

“|I SAID **TAKE THEM** -|”

Lt. K’uree never got to finish that sentence, as a half-dozen grenades landed in-between him and his squad.

With no drones to sacrifice themselves to cover the blast, his body made due.

* * *

So there’s a funny thing about warping into a barely-mapped system, is that you don’t really know _where_ you’re going to end up. You could pop out of super-luminal space and be in the middle of nowhere, or near an un-mapped planet, or – which was _much more common than the survey corps would like to admit,_ you could end up just slamming into an asteroid and adding a neat little dent to your ship.

The good news is that a significant amount of telemetry data, from planet locations and hypothesized orbits to speeds, intensity of solar wind, etc. had been fed into the navigational computers of High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions’ Armada, and he had absolutely _no_ concerns of hitting a heavenly body of any sort.

No, _his_ concern was of a more politically militant sort.

As he and the rest of his Armada came directly from sovereign space, they weren’t approaching this alien empire from the same vector as _The Three Stones_. This means that he had to spread out his ships in a wider area so as to (1) compensate for any potential drift of _The Three Stones_ and the target colony planet while (2) not spreading his ships out _so far_ as to be ineffective in covering each other on the minuscule, but very real chance that combat was already underway and his ships were warping into aggressive space. However, he had to (3) place them far enough _away_ from the theorized target range as to not appear _overly hostile_ , and the flagship **_Spite_** ** _’s Soul_** was……… intimidating. Intimidating is a word you could use. You could also use the words “way too much overkill”, “planet-cracker” and “I think some of those armaments are banned under Galactic law but I didn’t say nothin’.”

Armada was also a bit of a … _misnomer_. Certainly it _was_ an Armada, but it wasn’t _all militant_. There were dozens of science ships, hundreds of supply ships bearing gifts, cultural liaisons on unarmed cruisers and even an entire – for the lack of a better word, _station_ – completely dedicated to giving space for celebrations, fairs and general camaraderie.

So this meant that High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions had to _also_ position those non-combat ships within his Armada to project the peaceful intent of his people, yet make sure that they’re close enough to various military craft as to be protected in the again, off-chance-but-still-possible reality that space combat would be joined. This, of course, wasn’t counting the hundreds of petitions he had from the civilian populace to be the first one to address their new galactic neighbors, what speeches would be said, how they would be broadcast-

A cool mug of Ri’ddrij was loudly and obnoxiously placed in the center of his console by his attache.

“|Sorry for the interruption, sir, but your back eye was doing the…|” Qoili’’e, First Attendant of the Lord, motioned _quite unprofessionally_ to his left souleye, placing the serving tray against his side. “|-and I figured, you know. You could use a distraction.|”

“| _Thank you_ , Qoili’’e. These aliens haven’t lifted a blade against us and yet I already feel like I’ve been pitfighting for weeks.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ murmured, dragging his claw heavily down the bridge of his muzzle to drop near the mug, gripping it wearily. “|We are almost out of transit, correct?|”

“|Yes, sir.|” The First Attendant of the Lord said, bowing slightly. “|Literally within the next 5 minutes – though that hasn’t stopped a dozen more last-minute petitions from various Divine Paths, Holy Rings, Sacred Pools and Lit Ways, some of which also included some _very colorful language_ about what would happen to me if I didn’t petition you immediately.|”

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ looked up at his first attendant and smirked, bringing the mug slowly to his lips. “|And yet here you are, not petitioning me, and not letting them break you. How do you do it, I wonder?|”

“|Simple, sir.|” Qoili’’e, First Attendant of the Lord, said as he bowed a _little_ deeper than was appropriate. “|If it gets too much for me I just give it to you.|”

“|HAH!|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ laughed, taking a deep swig of his Ri’ddrij, letting the familiar icy tingle spread down his throat. “|You absolute monster – I should have you tried for apostasy or treason, or _something_.|”

“|No court in the galaxy, M’Lord.|”

“|Mmm, yes, well-|”

The only thing – and I mean, the _only thing_ that High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions would allow to interrupt him is any notification from his EM Lord, Uri’krei, or his Pilot, Rek’ik’ki.

Thankfully for everyone involved, the two of them kept such interruptions to the command deck and not to general life.

“|Dropping out of warp in 1 minute, High Lord.|”

“|Thank you, Pilot. EM Lord-|”

“|We are open on all secure IFF channels, scooping all spectrums.|” Uri’krei droned, as on-screen millions of indicators suddenly flashed on – and were immediately removed, showing now only the barest of information of each ship, their locations and armaments.

“|Well.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ shrugged, downing the last of his Ri’ddrij before placing the empty mug on the offered serving tray. “|Shall we make history?|”

* * *

So there’s a funny thing – though it’s less “ha-ha” funny in this context and more “well that was interesting” is that in order for combat suits (regardless of the species) to broadcast IFF indicators that could be read and monitored from space, the broadcast had to be _loud_ and _powerful_ – at least, from an EM perspective.

This also meant, for what it’s worth, that the suits broadcast broadly; both in an encrypted, broad-spectrum kind of sense and in a multi-directional sense, as a corresponding friendly receiver could be anywhere above or around you. These kinds of broadcasts also tended to remain, invisibly polluting the space around the AO – if given enough time.

On Wednesday, June 18th, 2025AD High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions’ Armada warped into the Solar System, just close enough to Earth to support _The Three Stones_ but far enough away to not seem antagonistic, spread out enough to offer support to each other’s ships but far enough out to cast a wide net, with civilian vessels in prominent, but _protected_ positions to show that the Karnakian people meant absolutely no harm, but were willing to defend what was theirs.

They weren’t greeted by a corresponding force, or _any_ force for that matter. They were, instead, greeted with status notifications and open communique.

It wasn’t the panicked, echoed communications of _The Three Stones_ _’_ senior staff that moved the High Lord Inquisitor-Commander, as his military career was filled with plenty of those.

It wasn’t the broadcasted destruction beacons of drones or of ships that caused him to stir, for over the past thousand years of service he had lost countless amounts of replaceable hardware.

It wasn’t even the weeping of the Matriarch that moved his heart to action, for all leaders weep bitter tears at some point.

No, what moved him to utter the single word that would change history forever was the open suit microphones, on interns and new recruits that – compared to him – barely finished their first molting.

 _It was all the screaming_.

And with that screaming, the sound of alien weapons-fire, of lungs filling with blood, with begging and with panicked orders, of prayers to any god – or _anyone_ who would listen, to family, to each other – with the cacophony of war echoing unchallenged across the command bridge, High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions’ Armada, The Hammer of the Righteous, The Bled Fang of The Infinite One, Guardian of the Sacred Flame, Firstfallen on the Blade of Purity, stood up and simply said

“|Go.|”

And APOSTLE and TESTAMENT and HERETIC and SACRAMENT and VANGUARD and PREACHER and Two Million, Two Hundred and Fourty Four Thousand, Seven Hundred and Eighty One special operations orbital shock troops accelerated out of their ship at multiples of the speed of sound, aimed at every significant population center their targeting computers could find.

And the War for Earth began.


	10. True 'Strayan

**High and Low Earth Orbit, Contact +0 Minutes**

“|We are riding HARD and FAST. SCR’s ignored, time to planetcrest 30 seconds-|”

“|Torpedoes in launch tubes, blasting covers in 10-|”

“|Check gimbals before atmosphere-|”

“|Rough-shocking to binary planet, codename GRAVESTONE-|”

“|Micromissiles launched; non-friendly IFF debris clearing-|”

“|Interplanetary signalling outpost detected, kinetic docking in 15 seconds-|”

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions stood and watched, arms crossed in thought, as his Armada _moved_. Dropships sped towards the colony world, squads grouping in twos, threes, tens and twenties – Interceptors and Missile barges popped afterburners to gain enough momentum to slingshot around the planet, ready to bring hell to whatever fleet was besieging _The Three Stones_ on the other side, and his tertiary command ship?

With zero physical momentum it generated enough power via it’s powercore to temporarily and physically _bridge_ the gulf of space, the relativistic energy tsunami – and the blinding light – the only indicator that it had moved from within his fleet to this planets’ only satellite.

“|What dumb, broken-clutch bastards.|” mused Qoili’’e, standing in awe at the sheer amount of weaponry being brought to bear against this new aggressor species.

“|Maybe.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ said, watching as over the planet superimposed geometries of fire began to coat it in a dangerous orange. “|But our plan is simple. Gut the enemy fleet, confound their planetary defenses – _when_ they surrender we hold them hostage to negotiate with _their_ core worlds.|”

“|Still, sir. To fire on _children-_ |”

“|This is why we never underestimate an unknown en-|”

“|Planetary Blindside on screen, Sir!|” interrupted their EM Lord, Uri’krei, as all available eyes turned to the expected carnage of _The Three Stones_ , floating listlessly in space, being picked apart like carrion on the plains-

… like being picked apart…. By the enemy fleet…

“|Where are they?!-|”

“|Dumping Torpedoes, Tiq-fly formation-|”

“|No, seriously, radiation scans are negati-|”

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ growled, beginning to roll his shoulders slightly in an involuntary threat display. “|Can we not see them?! Were they boarded to preserve the ship, reverse-engineer our technology?|”

“|Wide-Broadcast urgent message from _The Three Stones-_ |”

“|ON SCREEN, IMMEDIATELY.|” Roared the High Lord Inquisitor-Commander, and before his order was finished Matriarch Tr’Nkwi appeared on-screen, feathers torn from her face and neck.

“|GIVE US A SI-|”

“|YOU **MUST** STOP!|” She cried, hands outstretched in a wretched plea, her ripped and molted feathers falling like a waterfall from her open palms. “| **PLEASE!** **_IT_** ** _’S A HOMEWORLD_** -|”

“|What?!|” cried EM Lord Uri’krei, as for the first time in his 700 year career he stopped paying attention to his job.

“|Wh-what?!|” Stuttered Qoili’’e, the self-righteous wrath burning in his chest quickly turning into an icy pit.

“|WHAT.|” Responded High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions Armada, as with righteous fury that same Armada suddenly found itself without purpose, missile ships and EM destroyers and carrier nests and graviton lances all paused, their momentum carrying themselves forward with no purpose any longer.

“|CONTACT.|” Responded the kinetic interceptor operator, as their ship slammed into the ISS, a thousand hooks grappling and fusing the fledgling station to the war transport.

“|SHIT.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions groaned, as his eyes tracked to the War Theater screen. “|N-NONLETHAL! **NONLETHAL! RETURN ALL OPERATORS AND SHIPS, STAND DOWN! I REPEAT, STAND DOWN-|** **”**

– – – – –

**L.E.O. +5 minutes**

**+-+**

“| **PLEASE! _IT_** ** _’S A HOMEWORLD-_** |”

“|I’m sorry, _what the fuck_?|” SACRAMENT said, interrupting the wide-field broadcast. “|Did she just say-|”

“| **NONLETHAL! RETURN ALL OPERATORS AND SHIPS, STAND DOWN! I REPEAT, STAND DOWN!|** **”**

“|Well.|” PREACHER laughed out, shaking her head. “|Usually everything turns to shit once we land.|”

“|Souls damn them, how does he expect _us_ to do that? These things are a one-way flight!|”

“|Just… when we land, just do nothing.|” APOSTLE absent-mindedly ordered, tapping into his chain of command to get actual, _real_ updates as to what’s going on. “|Non-lethal is sanctioned, but we’re not to fire … we’re not to fire _even if_ _fired upon_.|”

“| **That** **’s** a new one.|”

“|…joy. I guess I’ll learn how to best farm alien space crops after all.|”

Silence gave way to static and then to a gentle rumbling fire as the planet’s atmosphere began to violently cradle the special operations soldiers, armed to the teeth and utterly impotent.

– – – –

**ISS +5 Minutes**

**+-+**

The station shook – violently. Enough so that the windows’ view spun wildly, a sound like a thousand rocks slamming into the outer plates of the capsules rippling up and down the ISS.

“No, seriously what even _is_ that alarm and why is it going off-”

“Look. You get in Soyuz, leave. Vladimir and I, we stay in suits, we fight.”

“With _what?_ ” Michael said, waving his hand around his mostly-suited up cosmonaut colleague. “Firstly, there’s no way we could’ve known that this would happen – I _still_ think you’re crazy for trying to stay! We’ve been up here for two years and the most dangerous thing I’ve seen on this station is a fucking _scalpel_ -”

Wordlessly Pitor Melnik reached over Michael’s head and opened an extra-large “oxygen” tank within the Soyuz capsule. Within it were completely disassembled weapons parts and a _significant_ amount of loose ammo.

“…I have many questions-”

“да. However, these wait for later. You must go, and go _now_ – let one of us survive.”

“Pitor-”

“нет. Do not try to change my mind. I die not for glory, but f-”

“-why is there a straw in the ethanol tank?”

The Astronaut and The Cosmonaut looked at each other, silently. Pitor slowly reached up and grabbed the hatch, and wordlessly closed it, cycling the airlock. He paused by the hatch for but a moment, before beginning to assemble the weapon before him – much as he did during his training days, the familiar movements quickly executed through muscle memory.

“Is he gone?”

“Yes.”

“You think we have a chance?” Vladimir said as he affixed his helmet, the kalishnakov rifle floating awkwardly between them.

“Ба́бушка на́двое сказа́ла.”

Vladimir laughed as his friend finished up, tucking spare magazines and rounds into pouches never meant for them.

“Без му́ки нет нау́ки!” he responded, as Pitor shook his head. “But personally, I don’t want to learn too muc-”

“? **’T’tRRGAA’’RAGH!**?”

“|Excuse me, but there seems to b-|”

“За тобой!” Yelled Pitor as he raised his rifle, Vladimir thinking quickly and kicking off a wall to float down a separate corridor as Pitor let fly a few desperate rounds into this black _thing_ that just stuck it’s head through an entrance hall.

“ **?Ii** **’’r’RGH, RAA’’G”R-?** ”

“|Listen, we’re sorry, but depre-|”

“умри ты сукин сын!” Bellowed Vladimir as he finally caught his weapon, pressing his back against a bulkhead as he began to focus fire. Light danced off the alien in geometric shapes, and it seemed to shudder – or perhaps, sigh.

U’iki’ri sighed and pulled his head out of the quite-cramped hallway, doing his best not to also drag out _too much_ of the extra cabling that circulated the life support of this primitive space station, turning to his colleagues. When his interceptor ship slammed into this… _construct_ he marveled. First, at how such incredibly delicate designs could survive in the hard vacuum of space, and secondly that his own ship didn’t keep just plowing through what was left of the station and go right to planetfall.

As soon as their pilot killed momentum, everyone got to work doing the best repair job they could – hell, fully half of them were spreading a quick-expanding foam between the ship and the black void of space, doing their best to keep as much atmosphere locked in, while the other half were performing a time-critical EVA mission to… well.

Collect the rest of the primitives’ space station.

This left U’iki’ri, as the highest ranking officer, in the very unenviable position of “negotiator”. However, no matter how gentle his voice or how sweet his song, every time he spoke the aliens tensed up, crouched – which was an interesting tactic in a place with no gravity, and fired their weapons at him. At this rate, they were putting more holes in their own station than in him – speaking of.

“|I am getting _nowhere_ with these small ones. How goes the repairs?|” U’iki’ri said, ducking his head under the wing of his craft, his boots now stamping on the crackling temporary foam floor.

“|Best case, Sir? 10 minutes. We sliced their station in half, so both sides are venting atmosphere at a ridiculous rate – the EVA team has capped the other side, and a barge is coming in to stabilize their orbit, but-|”

“|Ah, there it is.|”

The private dipped his hips a bit in embarassment, patting the alien “wall”. “|This one is not only unstable, but breaking apart. EVA crew already picked up what looks like an escape pod, so if they’re evacuating…|”

U’iki’ri sighed. “|Well, I can’t damn near fit through this little hole-|”

“|Honestly, Sir? Might be better to make your own.|”

U’iki’ri tapped his helmet. “|Did you hear that, EVA? My suit should’ve tagged the two locals-|”

“|Aye, sir. Opening this can now.|”

There was the sound of muffled screaming, the whoosh of oxygen, and the rapport of firearms.

– – –

 **High Atmosphere, Earth**. **+10 Minutes**

**-+-**

They fell everywhere the light touched, and those that didn’t skipped across the atmosphere to land where the single sun didn’t shine.

Pods burned through atmosphere, a twisted mockery of a shooting star, automated hard-coded defense systems kicking in – scrambling EM transmissions not tagged as friendly, deploying chaff and decoy missiles, sending suicide shield drones to blossom their defense as they fell, screaming from the heavens. The AI of each pod – programmed before, during and after launch – knew where to drop them, and did so with terrifying efficiency as the clouds burned away, and it’s optics scanned the horizon.

They fell on bridges and in car parks.

They fell on roads and power substations.

They fell on broad intersections and in abandoned alleyways.

They fell in playgrounds and dogparks, in greenways and overpasses, in apartment complexes and promenades.

They fell, and they thanked every ancestor, spirit and deity, that the hastily-reprogrammed AI hit nothing of importance. Their pods neglected to fire the anti-personnel grenades, forgot to launch the thermal netting, and refused to dislodge their EMP worms. Instead, with just a _mild_ flair for the dramatic, the bolts that held the drop pod door shut blew open, and thousands of heads poked out of the safety of their one-use ships.

They stared at slack-jawed motorists and shoppers.

They stared at stuttering construction workers and terrified wildlife.

They stared at innocent citizens in the midst of their workday, and hoodlums, spray-painting graffiti.

They stared unflinching at hundreds of small animals, at aliens in the midst of play and life, of families enjoying their day together.

 _And then everyone they looked at started screaming_.

– – –

**The City of Sydney, Australia, Earth. +35 Minutes from Contact.**

**-+-**

“FUCK’S SAKE-”

“STOP EYE-FUCKIN’ HIM AND SHOOT, YOU CUNTS!”

Qrr’iraa sighed and closed her eyes, counting to 10. She landed and evacuated her pod, making sure to shut everything down per surrender protocols, stowing her weapons, grenades and other armaments away in their respective cubbies and lockers, and then locking those down via a genetic code + congretory code. Now, only her _and_ her CO could get to those weapons of war – she was, in effect, completely harmless.

The bullets ricocheting off of her suit’s microdrone shield lattice wouldn’t have led you to believe that, however.

“|By the First Light, do they have to keep doing this?|” Qrr’iraa murmured as a grenade indicator pinged on her HUD, the dropship deploying a drone no larger than the size of her fist to cup it in a purpose-built reinforced shield – a muffled _thump_ shaking dust from the ground as the drone tanked the blast to float lazily up in the air once more.

“WHAT TH’ FUCK-”

“|Non-lethal, non-lethal.|” Qrr’iraa murmured to herself, slowly walking towards the still-aggressive locals. They were so tiny, yet _fierce_ , and their souls just… glittered. Whether that was normal or because of the trauma she inadvertently inflicted, she couldn’t say. Sure, her ship _kind of_ put a massive, uh, hole in their bridge, but that column stayed up! Mostly.

……The bridge was still standing, ok?

“|Non-lethal. Can I just… _push_ them a little?|” Qrr’iraa thought, lowering her center of mass and closing the distance to the closest alien. “|I don’t want to hurt them too much, I just want to get back to the squad-|”

Qrr’iraa pushed, and stared incredulously as Corporal Walker was launched 15 feet backwards into a truck, rocking it with the impact of his body.

“|But _how-_ |”

“WE’RE NOT HERE TO FUCK SPIDERS, **_SHOOT THE CUNT-_** ”

Qrr’iraa stood there and took the new incoming fire as she watched the alien’s brain stutter, then dim…

…then brighten like a nova. His eyes opened with a cool fire, an intense glare that caused her more primal mind to stir.

“ _Crikey_. **_That_** ** _’s_** _a trip._ ”

“John?! John, Goddamn, stay down you’re…you’re…”

John Walker stood up with unnatural ease, short shorts flowing in a breeze that seemed to only affect him. “ _What a beaut_. _I_ _’ve never seen one in the wild, but you can tell she’s a sheila by her size-”_

 _“_ What?”

“ _Oh! And she_ _’s an adult! That’s why she wants to get back to her family group._ ” Everyone stood still as John moved forward, an otherworldly glow alight on his features. Everyone, that is, save for Qrr’iraa, who lowered her head to the ground, boots digging into the alien pavement.

“ _Now now, I_ _’m not gonna ‘urt ya! I just wanna take a look at ya! You’re obviously at the top a’ your food chain, and this is a chance that comes along once in a lifetime!_ ”

“Cpl. Walker? S-sir?”

“ _Ah! That cunt got put **roit** through the ringa! But he gave me a lil time just to take this animal down and away from our Human civilization – and back into the wild!_ _”_ John triumphantly stated, arms and legs going akimbo to make himself seem larger to the now semi-feral alien.

“N-no.” Private Taylor said, his voice choking up slightly. “No. We **_lost_** you.”

Corporal Jake Walker – if he could still be called that – straightened up and turned to look at the kneeling private and smiled, face bright and shining, features seeming to change ever so slightly. “ _Nah, mate! I_ _’m in the heart of every true-blue ‘Strayan who wants to protect nature an it’s amazing beauty! And this-”_ He motioned to the Karnakian, who was in the middle of a threat display that was fierce (but sadly covered by her suit). “ _-This is somethin_ _’ I **couldn’t** pass up. Now excuse me while John and I become a sick cunt and rassle this lil lady sos we can get a look at her!”_

And Steve did just that.


	11. Finnish Death Gods and the art of Squatting

**High Earth Orbit, +55 minutes**

_Aboard **The Void**_ **_’s Edge_ **

“?~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~?”

“|Well it _still_ doesn’t look calm – or happy.|”

U’iki’ri sighed, tail drooping to rest against the deck plating. Everything – and he meant _everything_ was going legs-up out there. When he called in for a simple sitrep and his next round of orders, he was sent to the wrong department, then put on hold. When he called _again_ he finally got to the right person – or at least, the right officer level – but they just shrugged and told him to wait it out. So they pulled what bits of their station they could find into a stable orbit, lashed the rest into a big bundle and stuck it behind their own ship, and parked.

Seeing this did _nothing_ to mollify their guests.

The first 30 minutes were the worst; as soon as the infiltration squad released the suited-up locals they began bouncing around, latching onto his fireteam, trying to stab them or wrestle weapons from them or puncture their suit or press all the buttons they could find – or any other number of mischievous things. When they realized their attacks were ineffective, they tried to run – and run was _such a generous term_ – only to realize, hey. You’re on a different ship and doors don’t work for you.

So then they attacked _again_. That lasted another 5 or so minutes until, U’iki’ri assumed, they tired themselves out. Now they had lowered themselves onto the deck – one was sprawled out with all it’s limbs against the floor, and the other had squatted down and was just watching.

“|Do we want to try to open the hatch again, sir?|”

U’iki’ri gave a full-body shrug, not breaking eyes with the helmeted “eye” of the squatting alien. “|Honestly, why not? Surely they can’t have _anything else_ to throw at us.|”

With a nod the technician scooted around the crude emergency life-pod and began to unscrew the hatch, swinging it slowly open-

“?AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-?”

And with that came a torrent of what looked like personal effects, some cabling, a few cushions, writing utensils and a boot. The Technician, to his credit, just gently swept the bric-a-brac over to the side, creating a neat little pile. The screaming stopped once he left the visual range of the open hatch, and for a brief moment U’iki’ri dared to let himself hope that they could make some progress. He cleared his throat and thumbed on his external speakers.

“|H-|”

“?AAAAA?”

“|. . . .|”

“|He-|”

There was an unceremonious _thump_ as what looked like an article of clothing – _possibly_ a boot – was tossed haphazardly and unceremoniously out of the open hatch. U’iki’ri stared at it, and then looked back at the squatting alien space explorer on-deck, locking eyes with the single black helmeted “eye” again.

The alien seemed to somehow squat _deeper._

 _“|Don’t you judge me._ |”

**– – –**

**Kunshan, China +35 minutes**

**-+-**

The explosion ripped through the industrial city, followed by another and another. The shock wave of the first blast – a petrochemical plant – was enough to flatten the warehouses directly next to the factory, blow buildings off of their foundations within that same block, and shatter windows a couple kilometers away. The frequency of the following explosions eventually drove the citizens numb, huddling behind vehicles or makeshift barricades – _anything_ to lessen the punch of the blast wave, the deafening ringing in their ears.

Lucky children coughed dust. Most coughed rust.

Streams – some natural, most now man-made – formed in the city, pooling and pouring a sickly concoction that never quite caught the light right, that stank of industry and heat and _blood_ , that caught fire when it finally oozed down to the sparking, fallen electrical poles.

Those that weren’t lucky to die in the blast soon found their homes, what lives they had, engulfed in a chemical fire.

The fire spread; emergency services weren’t exactly _quick_ at the best of times, and seeing as how it’s just personal belongings and not industry being destroyed – and given the current state of affairs – well. The fire spread.

The fire kicked off another few rounds of explosions, and the people gave up hope.

**_Then_ ** _the Karnakian Drop Pods landed in a completely unrelated city._

**– – –**

**Tokyo, Japan. +35 Minutes**

**-+-**

“?移動してください?  
“?Please Move.?”

“|Alright, let’s hold here.|”

Krrroioi checked his sight lines – a long passage to his right and to the left was kept clear, meaning they could escape underground if necessary. Urr’gra and Ikir’rei were keeping an eye on the stairs to the upper and lower levels, respectively, so if they met resistance they ha-

“? **移動してください**?”  
“? **PLEASE MOVE.?”**

Krrroioi looked down at the little-insistent-innocent alien, who did not meet his gaze but defiantly stood before him. His translator had not been updated with anything even _remotely_ rudimentary, so he was not only unable to ascertain what the smaller being wanted, but he couldn’t even tell him to escape like the rest of his kin so he’d be safer.

“|I’m- I’m sorry-|” Krrroioi said through public speakers, causing the being to jump in place. “|But this is the most defensible position for us right now. You must go to you-|”

“移動してください。 私は仕事に遅刻したことがないので、今から始めたくはありません。”  
“?Please move. I have never been late for work, and I don’t want to start now.?”

Krrroioi grumbled, making a point to rear back and look over and around his living roadblock. “|What’s the chatter?|”

“|Nothing useful-|” Urr’gra chirped, poking her head around the corner. “|-Maybe they’ll have some sort of language package in the next few hours. Until then, same orders before planetfall.|”

“|A few hours?-|”

“? **移動してください?”**  
“? _PLEASE MOVE_ “?

“|Yeah, apparently there’s _hundreds_ of languages, not counting dialects. That’s not taking into account picking which of _our_ languages will have the auspicious honor of being the first to-|”

“移動してください。 私は私の子供たちが私を知らないほど家族の時間を犠牲にしました。 これで私が残したのはこれだけです。 遅くしないでください。”  
“?Please move. I have sacrificed so much family time that my children don’t know me, and my wife hasn’t touched me in 10 years. This is all I have left. Please don’t make me late.?”

Krrroioi sighed yet again. Apparently body language _did not_ translate across species. With a practiced, delicate movement (after the commnet was spammed with “DEAR GODSOUL WHAT” and “HIT IT WITH STASIS WE CAN FIX IT” a couple dozen times) he gently lowered his head, pressing it against –

– the alien raised it’s bag and pressed back.

Krrroioi gently extended his neck, and the alien lowered his body, lower limbs scrabbling for purchase against the tiled ground as they fought the _strangest_ engagement of Krrroioi’s life. This continued in agonizing slow motion for a few moments before there was a rumble – something _big_ and _fast_ was coming. Krrroioi tensed up, his HUD beginning to stream information about theoretical densities, speed, location-

Krrroioi stood up and turned to face this new threat, the sudden lack of pressure causing the local alien to stumble forward. The two of them looked at each other – one tensed for battle, the other adjusting it’s clothing – as the train finally pulled into the station, gliding effortlessly to a stop right on time and right on place.

“|. . .oh.|”

“?馬鹿。?”  
“?Idiot.?”

– – –

The first few trains after the salary man pried open the doors and stepped on, refused to take new passengers. Word had apparently gotten out about the aliens sitting in the station, and for public safety’s sake the conductors would just skip that exit and move onto the next one.

This lasted, as I said, for _just a few trains_ , as there are few things that can get in between a Japanese salary man and the crushing debt of guilt and feelings of obligation he has to provide for his family by sacrificing his life at the company which owns him. Eventually people started to politely but _pointedly_ pry open train doors, and at that point the conductors just shrugged, locked their compartments, and let nature take it’s course.

And seeing as how the aliens didn’t stand in the middle of thoroughfares, didn’t take hostages – didn’t really do much but stand and look around awkwardly, a few calls were made on their behalf. For as you know, if you’re not Japanese then you’re a 外人 – a Gaijin, and well. You can’t _really_ be expected to function properly in society to begin with. It’s not your fault, you’re just, yanno. Not Japanese.

And so with much bowing, the transferal of pamphlets and the waving of white-gloved hands, the first (and only) intergalactic tour of the Tokyo Transit System began.

**– – – –**

**Literally anywhere in Brazil, +60 Minutes**

**-+-**

“Você veio! Oh graças a Deus, alguém finalmente veio!”  
“?You came! Oh thank God, someone finally came!?”

**– – – –**

**Bristol, England, UK. +1H 15M**

**-+-**

“I’m not sure I like this.”

Susan peered over her book, looking at her partner-in-crime (but mostly fellow bridge player) Caroline, as the two enjoyed afternoon tea on the outside patio of their local cafe. The weather was _just_ nice enough to allow it, and Susan was quite tired of living indoors for so long that she just _had_ to get out and get some fresh air. The fact that there was a minor invasion going on had absolutely nothing to do with her decision, and would absolutely not impact it in any way, shape or form.

As far as Susan was concerned, the aliens must have had the same idea, because the weather was _just right_.

“Oh stop it. I for one quite like these new Bobbies – you know I heard the Davis’ boy ran at ‘em with a bayonet? And they just confiscated it _right there_! Faster than you could blink, they say!”

“A bayonet. You sure it wasn’t a butterknife again?” Caroline said flatly, snapping her biscuit on her plate. “Because we are talking about the same little Tim Davis – the one with the unfortunate head and the missing-”

“Yes, yes! He was so angry, they say! Bellowed somethin’ about not letting nobody near his skunk, whatever that means-”

“And this ‘they’ says… A bayonet, _from world war one, I assume_ , to _those **things** –_” Caroline dipped her head to the left where one of _those_ things, in question, was standing right on the street corner, looking quite uncomfortable as more and more people deposited hatchets, knives, gardening trowels, forks, spoons, electrical cabling, tape, VHS cassettes, various hard candies and other dangerous equipment at it’s feet. The other police officers milling about around him gave him a sort of legitimacy, and the local MP had already begun ordering banners hung for an impromptu “bin the blade” initiative/drive.

“Yes, indeed. Thank Goodness we’re getting those dangerous _things_ off of the street.”

Caroline met eyes with the helmeted alien as it made a (what she assumed to be) plaintive gesture of _“please stop giving me sacrifices this is really uncomfortable”._ She shrugged and smiled into her tea.

“Yes. _Those things_ sure seem deadly.”

– – – –

**Somewhere outside Oulu, Finland. +1H, 30M**

**-+-**

“|This, is -|” Ra’gri panted hard, resting against one of the towering flora of the planet. “|-Absolutely, insane.|”

“|Look, I don’t know, I just don’t know-|” Re’tji sputtered, his head on a swivel as he looked around the frozen terrain. “|I just, I just _hear_ and then-|”

“?En menetä.?”  
“?I won’t miss.?”

The duo jumped and spun on their heels, being rewarded with the dual _crack_ of a long rifle firing from _somewhere_ , the bullets slamming into the shield matrix of their helmets, blossoming their vision in vivid blues and piercing whites. Then-

Nothing.

“|Why. Why can’t we _see_ them-|”

“|Idon’tknowIdon’tknow-|”

“?Olet kaneja ennen minua.?”  
“?You are rabbits before me.?”

“|Please, we mean you no ha-|” Ra’gri began, before another two-round burst of rifle fire from _somewhere_ slammed into the side of his head, his shield matrix again saving him from the concussive strike.

“?Saanko myös lihaa, ihmettelen??”  
“?Will I taste your flesh, I wonder??”

Ra’gri tensed for the shots, but they never came. Re’tji just shuddered, his helmet forcefully and rapidly switching through the entire visible EM spectrum, head _still_ on a swivel, and _still_ unable to see where his attackers lay.

“|I don’t like this at all, I really don’t, I’m ok if we can fight back but to just sit here and die-|” moaned Re’tji, claws working over themselves in a nervous tic. “|It’s just shots, constantly, out of nowhere, and then a _voice-_ ”

“|Listen, calm down.|” Ra’gri reached forward, tapping his helmeted head against his teammates. “|Our translator packages should be updated soon…ish. Just… let’s just keep moving. At some point they’re going to have to tire out, and we can keep moving – regroup with the rest. Lose our tail, take a breather. Good?|”

“|Y-yeah.|”

“|Come on now. You good?|”

“|Yeah. Just. I _really_ let my guard down and-|”

“|I know, but let’s just go.|”

“|Y-yeah.|” Re’tji nodded. “|Yeah. It’ll get better once we regroup.|”

And as the two of them began to run towards the Russian border, the snowbank laughed and took a Pervitin tablet.


	12. If I can't have it NO ONE CAN

– – –

Kursk, Russia. +2 Hours.

-+-

The Brutalist architecture stood tall – monolithic – and for a city of almost 600,000, totally and completely _silent_. Cars were abandoned on the highway, trains stopped running, and if it wasn’t for the electrical hum of wiring and the flickering of lights, the errant open door wafting the scent of now-burning food into the street, or the still-babbling televisions and radios it would seem that the city itself was abandoned.

It would seem.

Russia was no stranger to battle, and to fighting on their own territory – from the wars brought to it’s borders from Sweden and France to their own incursions into Europe, the land and the people had a long memory of bitter fighting. Kursk was, of course, no stranger to this grim task; It was sieged by the Vikings and the Nords in winters beyond memory, it had shuddered at the touch of the Mongol horde – this was, of course, not counting the dozens if not hundreds of times it had traded hands among the Rus themselves in the time before writing. Much blood had watered it’s soil, for it sits in a strategic position; take Kursk, and you have a foothold into Moscow, or to cutting Russia off from the Black and Caspian Seas. Most recently, Germany tried to take it.

Tried to.

Qro’roi looked up at the tall, looming and somewhat decrepit building, searching the windows and open balconies for the movement indicator his HUD pinged him with. He cycled through multiple spectrums of light, and even attempted to penetrate the building with a form of sonar, peeling away the outer layer to give him a hint of what lay within.

Nothing.

Qro’roi shuddered, and continued down the broad road before him. He had landed much like his brothers and sisters, and much like them there was the general panic of the local populace. Some reported terrifying the populace into fleeing – which was understandable, as their equipment wasn’t exactly designed to look _friendly_ – whereas others were reporting disinterest, and in some cases even gifts and welcoming. Qro’roi wished he was in any of those other categories because then things would make _sense_. His AI notified him during planetfall that he was landing in a populated area. He hit a park – or at least, an empty field of _some_ sort – and by the time he emerged

Nothing.

But it was the obvious _wrongness_ of the Nothing that got him. It’s as if the entire population looked up and made the same conclusion, and then vanished into thin air. There were no stragglers, no attacks – some of his unit in other cities not 40 leagues from him reported locals ramming them with vehicles or pelting them with improvised missiles, or even engaging with their military – which again, _made sense_. But in this city he and his squad were unmolested. Granted, they were _dispersed_ , as changing trajectory means also making sure that an accidental detonation of munitions doesn’t daisy-chain and become a conflagration, but closing that gap between battle brothers is what PT in full gear was for. Qro’roi paused at an intersection and leaned out carefully, letting his HUD scan for any signs of the locals, or of military machinery moving in, or of _anything_ that would make it seem like the population was real and that this wasn’t some purpose-built fake city – which apparently these aliens _had_ , oddly enough.

Nothing.

Qro’roi sighed, his suit beginning to up the dose of anti-anxiety and paranoia medications, helping him keep a cool head as he fully turned the corner and began to run down the center of the road, weaving in and out of abandoned land vehicles – still on, still running, still blaring music or language or static. There was nothing living, however, and a-

 _ **Movement**_.

Qro’roi quickly – so quickly his boot dug a furrow into the paved road, lowering his body to reduce his overall surface area and tensing the springs of his legs to dodge the upcoming assault-

“?Давай, давай. У бабушки есть еда для тебя, малышки.?”

“?Come, Come. Grandma has food for you, little ones.?”

-of a lone local, hunched over, wrapped tightly in cloth and scattering food for the indigenous winged animal population. Qro’roi stood silent, still, as he watched the local reach into a crinkling bag, crumbling up something inside and pulling it out, scattering the broken crumbs in a semicircle around it’s feet. It’s movements were slow and halting, and with dawning realization Qro’roi realized this being was old for it’s species. Really, really old. The overall scene of this creature sitting nonchalantly in the central gathering area inside the U of a giant, monolithic, _seemingly abandoned_ building performing a ritual that he himself had seen on countless other worlds was absolutely _absurd_ _ **.**_

“ _ **|**_ Qro’roi? Noticed you stopped and your heart rate spiked. Everything ok?|” Squad leader Oi’’iie chirped in his ear almost immediately.

“|C..contact.|”

“|Oh?|”

“|Yeah. Elder, just…feeding the wildlife.|”

“|Hah!|” Rag’re’a coughed, clearing his throat. “|Really now.|”

“|I’m going to check it out.|”

“|You realize this is a trap, right?|” Tt’kir’a interjected, laughter bubbling in his voice.

“|Of course.|” Qro’roi clicked his tongue in irritation. “|I’m not an idiot. I just don’t want us ending up like SOOTHSAYER companyu and having to take shelter in the underground from the locals.|”

“|Ok, granted, but being underground isn’t _that_ bad – especially in a regional capital, eh?|” Rag’re’a questioned, audibly cycling through contextual menus. “|Also, update incoming.|”

“|Mmmm. Say that after spending 2 weeks in a sewer to wait for a guard shift change and then we’ll talk.|”

“|Yeesh~. Now I know why you have such a _sour_ disposition!|”

“|I hate you so much, Tt’kir’a.|”

“|Aww, that’s what keeps the relationship special~! So what’s your goal?|” Rag’re’a said, half-paying attention.

Qro’roi stood back up and gave a whole-body shrug – not that the local could understand his body language, or even paid attention. “|Get close, stand nearby. Don’t harm her, hopefully the others who are in hiding see that and come out. If I can figure out how to ‘surrender’ then I’ll do that too. Maybe word will spread?|”

“|It’s a traaaa~aaaap|” Tt’kir’a sang, and then grunted as he… well, probably fell from a decent height.

“|Probably. But this looks like a residential building – if my update is correct-|” Qro’roi tapped his helmet as it began it’s first major update, buildings around him being broadly IFF-categorized as ‘residential(?)’ or ‘industrial(?)’ or the ever helpful ‘flammable(?)’. “|So _that’s_ fortuitous. Probably a cross-fire killzone with soldier-arms weaponry – which is why I’ll be staying a decent way away from the local, let them get it out of their system, and _then_ we start negotiations.|”

“|That’s really dumb. Walking into an ambush, letting it trigger, and then hoping to negotiate _afterwards_? That’s dumb. You’re dumb.|” Tt’kir’a helpfully pointed out.

“|And that’s also why I’m not squad leader. Thoughts?|”

“|…small-arms fire _only_ , but they start throwing grenades or bring anything substantial out and you _run_.|” Oi’’iie begrudgingly said, her breath coming out ragged as she began running once more.

“|Yes ma’am.|”

Qro’roi moved slowly – for his species, at least – making sure to scan the street for snipers, tagging various roadblocks and marking escape routes – before crossing the street fully to stand at the edge of the _extremely obvious_ ambush. Qro’roi smiled to himself and rolled his shoulders, making sure to give himself a good stretch. With an obvious nod to the right, left, and front he walked confidently, if slowly, forward.

 _This made sense_.

“?Да да Так жадно! Для всех вас достаточно, мы не убежим.?”

“?Yes, yes. So greedy! There’s plenty for all of you, we won’t run out.?”

The elder fussed and clicked her tongue, the patterned birds before her fussing over the offered food. They would jostle and fight for the scraps, and again the hand would go into the bag, and again it would provide more bread. Qro’roi let his HUD scan and record _everything_ – both for his after-action report, and because he was honestly curious as to where the first shot would come from. The local remained seated in the middle of the decrepit, but sturdy bench, and the scattered crumbs flung out around her feet. A few brave pigeons jumped on the bench with her, trying to curry some favor or to somehow get more food.

“?Всегда такой жадный. Так предсказуемо. Мы должны быть простыми, думают они. Но я не против.?”

“?Always so greedy. So predictable. We must be simple, they think. But I do not mind.?”

Qro’roi stopped about halfway towards the elder and stood still, keeping his arms and legs spread slightly so his limbs were very visible – and so it was _very visible_ that he was doing nothing.

“Что я против, так это плохие манеры! Пшли вон, кыш!?”

“What I mind is poor manners! Go, go – shoo!?” The elder made a waving motion with their upper limbs, scaring away a couple of the birds that had gone too close to her body. They fluttered, but not too far, bravely coming back to get more handouts. The elder reached into her bag and pulled out an entire slice of hardened bread – and, like a frisbee, flung it halfway between her and Qro’roi. A few of the birds chased after it before noticing something was _off_ , and landed in a scattered semicircle around the discarded food, their primitive minds fighting between free sustenance and something… _off_. Qro’roi looked at the offered food then back up at the local, and did not move.

“?Бах, смотри! Вы приходите ко мне домой, вы не называете меня бабушкой, вы не позволяете мне кормить вас … но, может быть, вы хотите съесть что-нибудь еще??”

“Bah, see! You come into my home, you do not call me granny, you do not let me feed you… but maybe, you want to eat something else??”

The two locked eyes for the first time, one soldier to another.

The elder simply rested her hands on her lap.

The confiscated and half-assembled Panzerabwehrkanone 12.8cm “Pak” 44 L/55 that Babuskha had ripped from the Nazi army’s cold, dead hands had lain dormant within the boiler room of the soviet-bloc era apartment building before being hastily reassembled in a forcibly-abandoned room. At the signal given by the old lady, it fired a single 28kg round from deep within the apartment complex, the blast utterly destroying the walls around it and the shockwave killing Dimitri (who was a _good_ grandson but a bit of a hooligan) as it pushed effortlessly through the window, crossed the scrub-grass “greenspace” of the inner courtyard and slammed into Qro’roi’s torso, his microdrone shield lattice shielding him from the kinetic shrapnel but _not_ from the shockwave – the force spinning him off the ground like a top. Babushka smiled for a brief moment before the blast took her too.

It was a necessary sacrifice.

Qro’roi’s suit screamed in it’s internal telemetry, feeding data about the direction of the attack, it’s force, potential other attackers, pilot health, shield recharge rate-

“| _I told you~_ |” Tt’kir’a sang out over Qro’roi’s grunt of pain as he landed on his feet, spinning on his heels to run out.

“?Ах вы исчадья птицефабрики!?”

“?Oh, you _fowl_ poultry!?” yelled another bent-over elder from a balcony, and she let out a yelp as the RPG-2 fired, the backblast blowing out her sitting room.

Again, another necessary sacrifice.

The 80+ year old munition surprisingly fired true, striking Qro’rois’ back and causing him to stumble. From almost every window emerged various models of AKs, Mosins, Makarovs and PP-90s, and fire poured down upon him.

“|You are _exceedingly_ stupid, Qro’roi.|”

“|I AM RETREATING-|”

“|Ok, not _that_ stupid after all-|”

“|OI’’IIE I AM GOING TO KILL HIM-|”

“|Yeah, well we all kn-|” Oi’’iie suddenly grunted, and there was a small burst of static. “|Shit, I guess that was the signal.|”

Qro’roi skidded behind a vehicle, the sound of weapons fire almost drowning out the protest of the makeshift barricade he was behind. “|Well shit. Do we have a _working_ translator yet? I’d like to yell that I come in peace or something.|”

“|Not yet – though we should very soon-|”

“|And we’ll be home for shrine season, right?|” Qro’roi growled sarcastically, instinctively flinching as another explosive round destroyed his cover – forcing him to move behind another, sturdier vehicle that was slowly chipped away behind him again. “|And what of regional?|”

“|Those unfortunate bastards who landed in the regional capital? Last I heard, they were lacing EMP worms to give themselves a breather-|”

“|Wait, what-?|”

– – –

After the fifth or sixth update to the universal translators, Humanity found out that “worm” was a terrible mistranslation for the type of creature that was native to the Karnakian homeworlds, and to the device that the special operations team was referring to. If anything, “scarab-centipede-carpenter bee” would do more justice, as it had wings … though it _also_ had a multi-segmented body and tended to burrow into most anything – dirt, mud, clay, plants, wood, etc. Regardless, the ‘worm’s that SOOTHSAYER platoon were scattering as they regrouped did the same job as their organic counterparts; they flew and burrowed into dark nooks and crannies behind gutters, in building alcoves, under tree roots, in gutters and drains and wheel wells and air conditioning units, in concrete walls and subway floors.

All in all, the ones that weren’t shot down or otherwise destroyed were relatively safe – forgotten, for the bigger fish in font of the defenders. Maybe 3, 4 dozen survived, and when they activated the EMP was still blocked by natural shielding, by dirt and earth and metal and water. Considering each drop pod by itself was seeded with _hundreds_ of these things, the fact that so few were activated was considered a remarkable act of constraint.

It was a localized EMP blast, no more than one or two KM in radius. The electrical grid overloaded, certainly, but Hospital generators kicked on, the Kremlin only had a temporary blackout, and deep within Moscow’s abandoned-and-unmapped subway system, electronic locks disengaged long enough for the Karnakians to force open a few Soviet-era doors.

The second, localized EMP blast was to knock out the emergency lighting, and to allow the combat-suited invaders the ability to swing open and shut the heavy steel vault doors on their own, allowing _them_ the territory control they needed to establish a safe perimeter.

Hospitals were on their own grid at this point, so they remained powered.

The Kremlin, however, did not.

And the man who sat behind the mahogany desk in Langley prepared, for he knew what it meant for the phone to go dead. He knew before the submarine crews lost contact, he knew before the rest of the Five Eyes could blink, he knew before those scientists and radar technicians and astronomers who would stare at their instruments and begin to weep.

He knew, and shuddered, as a Dead Hand Fell.

– – – –

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions _aggressively_ scratched his neck, the sharp pricks of pain and the sudden cool rush against agitated scales giving him the subconscious queues that he too was molting. Maybe not as bad as the now almost-bald Matriarch Tr’Nkwi – who had hurridly abdicated her status as the Diarch’s representative, gave a full debriefing, and then immediately passed out due to stress – but he was going to get there, if things kept on going as they were.

“|By all eight souls.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ groaned as he split his gaze between his personal status screens, the shared conference bridge of his advisers and the planet hanging before them in silent judgment. The headache was back, and he could _feel_ his back soul-eye doing the…twitching thing again as he mentally reviewed his plan:

Wait until a language was translated – which he was assured was _any moment now_ – and then broadcast it over their planet, asking for a cease fire.

Negotiate with the locals for the return of all his soldiers and their equipment.

Negotiate reparations with the locals and an official apology.

Negotiate future _**peaceful**_ visits over the coming centuries to check in on progress and cultural development

Negotiate benchmarks to join the overall Galactic Community.

Drink heavily.

Go get stationed on a garden world.

Drink heavily.

Drink heavily.

“|High Lord?|” EM Lord Uri’krei called out, snapping High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ from his internal checklist. “|We’re noticing a significant amount of long-range missile launches…|”

“|Well. Prepare shields, have our cutters move to intercept.|”

“|That’s the thing-|” EM Lord Uri’krei physically turned from his console to half-face the High Lord, tilting his head at the screen. “|Trajectory data says they’re aiming at _their_ _own_ territories.|”

“|What.|”

“|Yeah…that’s… that’s a _lot_ of missiles… aimed at a _lot_ of population centers. And…yeah, it looks like the phenomenon is spreading-|” EM Lord Uri’krei murmured, overlaying the planet with various indicators of launches, of missiles starting to arc into the blue planet’s atmosphere – some seeming to be on intercept courses, others literally slated to pass by each other entirely. “|I understand the concept of denying the enemy materiel, but, this looks to be a staggering blow aimed at their own neck.|”

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions stared for the briefest of moments before a very _very_ dark thought passed his mind. He raied a clawed hand – his implant silently sending a message to a cutter-class ship, _The Butcher,_ to fire a kinetic slug at one of the missiles. High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’’s silent, almost zen-like body language caught the eye of his advisors, and wordlessly they turned to the main screen, whereupon various indicators were superimposed over the planet – a ship, a fired round, the closing distance and the connection with the primitives’ missile and the

And the subsequent flash of a star being born for just the briefest of seconds.

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ jaw moved, but no coherent sound was made – there was just a gutteral and primal groan as the terrible weight settled upon his shoulders, as these innocent creatures committed suicide out of spite to his hostile invasion force.

As in a dream, someone, somewhere, ordered everyone to fire _everything_.

And a few seconds later, for the first time in Earth’s geological history – and in recorded Human history – the Aurora Summa Terrae flashed brilliantly in the sky, as the lights below it winked out.


	13. WE'RE HELPING PLEASE STOP RESISTING

Springdale, Arkansas, USA. +5 DAYS AFTER CONTACT.

-+-+-

The sound of boots on broken glass broke the silence, and Carl gripped his shotgun a little tighter as he swept the Target for looters. He wasn’t expecting any, but he heard through the radio that if your area was still without power, you should “shelter in place”. This was also codeword for “the cops aren’t there right now” and well. Carl sighed internally as he scooted a particularly garish discount rack out of the way with his foot, the sound purposefully made to raise eyebrows, suspicion… anything. The Target – the store, not something he was hunting – thankfully, had incorporated skylights into it’s ceiling, so as long as it was daylight he could see all across the store – and nothing but the store looked back at him.

“Well. This was a whole lot of nothing.”

And indeed, it was. In Tornado country everyone kept multiple radios, and the ones that were in hidey-holes or basements or even under enough metal to deflect the EMP still worked. He, personally, was out hunting when the invasion hit, so he just… kept hunting. An overnight trip turned into a 2 day weekend turned into him being the most popular man in the neighborhood when he finally rolled back home with a working vehicle and radio. NPR still ran – when it was able to – but everything else was basically co-opted by 24/7 Government Updates. It was somewhat hilarious to him to see his friends and neighbors – people who didn’t trust no gub’mint listen with rapt attention in his living room to updates from DC (or wherever the bunker they were broadcasting was from) explaining how things were going, casualties, where troops were handing out food, medicine, clean water-

“[FRIEND.]”

Carl turned, nonplussed, at his tail.

“D’ya fuckin’ mind?”

He picked up this stranger about 2 miles back mainly because he was the only vehicle still running (at least, that he’s run into) after the EMP went off, and when you see a Ford F-150 from the early 60’s shuddering it’s way around Teslas and Mustangs, over sidewalks and through stopsigns – literally, in some cases – you tend to attract attention. It’s not like Carl wanted to be followed, but it was more a matter of his top speed was about 60MPH if he was pushing it, and the damn thing just kept pace with his vehicle.

“[FRIEND. HELP.]”

“I think not. NO. Go away!” Carl yelled, trying to shoo the alien stranger away with the barrel of his gun as it poked it’s head around the busted sliding-glass doors. It was useless – the shorty he made and used only blew out his window and did nothing to stop his accomplice, so. It was relegated now to a very expensive and very illegal pointing stick.

But I won’t tell the ATF if you won’t.

Grumbling to no one in particular Carl helped himself to a couple shopping carts, making his way first to the “sporting goods” section – ammunition is always necessary, after all – and then once he loaded up there, he’d hit the various dry goods areas. Water filters would be important; it’s not like anyone needed tents or whatnot, as everyone’s houses still stood. The real pain in the ass is cooking and cleaning; cereal and water gets old real quick, and some people had display fireplaces, which, really! Why the fuck would you have a fireplace just to look nice and not actually be usab-

“[ANOTHER. FRIEND. QUESTION.]”

“I was talking out loud again, eh?” Carl said, looking behind him to see the towering alien duck under the steel door bar, standing up inside the store properly.

“Well, might as well – it’s good enough company, seeing as how you’re not the chatty type.”

The alien just looked at him, and Carl scowled.

“Don’t give me that – you can understand me now! You should at least try to talk to-”

“[FRIEND. HELP. QUESTION.]”

“Oh, now you want to help! Sure, here!” Carl snarked, rolling the shopping carts away from him in no direction in particular. “Look! We’re right next to the card aisle! Let’s see if we can just help each other!” With grand, sweeping steps he marched right into the center of the greeting card aisle, spinning around a couple times in mock search. “Hmm. Nope! This isn’t where the ‘we invaded you on accident and we’re sorry’ cards are! Maybe they ran out – could we hand out a ‘At least we lowered your emissions!’ consolation card? No, that seems a bit too cheeky. OH!”

Carl pulled out a generic ‘hope you feel better’ card and waved it at the alien, who was still a few dozen feet away, watching the spectacle unfold. “I’VE GOT IT! WE’RE SORRY FOR BLASTING YOU BACK TO THE STONE AGE. HOPE YOU ENJOY DYSENTERY!”

“[FRIEND. APOLOGY. HELP. QUESTION.]”

“Oh fuck right off.”

* * *

Good news: Grilling was in this season!

“Nnngh. Fucking Charcoal.”

Bad news: Grilling was the only way to cook this season!

Carl lowered his bodyweight as he pushed – one behind the other – two carts loaded with bags of charcoal briquettes. His ‘companion’ was standing next to his truck awkwardly – he had been shooed away from helping pack the bed multiple times, and so instead just stood and watched as the lone man finally wrestled the last two carts near the truck. Those carts joined a few others that held water filters, ammunition, dry and canned foods, solar panel generator packs and board games.

Yes, board games. Not like the Playstation 7 was going to work anytime soon.

The Government news called it a Carrington Event – the thing that knocked out the electronics – basically a global EMP. Stuff that was hardened against an attack like that were relatively ok; submarines, military installations, some hospital generators, things lacking an electronic brain and backup substations made it, for the most part. Literally everything else wasn’t doing so well.

It hurt Carl, on a fundamental level, to know his son’s Nintendo was now just a $800 paperweight – and that of course the warranty wouldn’t cover it.

“[FRIEND. HELP. GO. QUESTION.]”

“Yeah, I’m about to go fuck right off back home, without you.”

The alien pointed to the horizon, and Carl followed his arm – and scowled. Floating over his city was one of their ships, cables and gantries being built into his city with their technology for some unknown purpo-

“[HELP.]”

“No. I don’t fucking trust you.” Carl growled, angrily throwing charcoal bags into his truck bed. “I don’t care if they have power, if they have ‘help’” he spat, “They probably can’t get out. I don’t give a shit. I’m not going, and you can’t make me.”

“[HELP.]” The alien said, gently, its’ feedback almost making a cooing noise as it took a step forward. Like a flash, Carl whipped out his sawed-off shotgun, pointing it between the alien’s eyes. They stood like that for a few seconds before he turned the gun on himself, the alien physically tensing.

“No. I don’t fucking trust you.”

The alien stepped forward, and Carl pressed the slightly warm barrel to his flesh, staring intently, unflinchingly at the beast.

“[PLEA. HELP.]”

“No.”

And they stood like that for just a few more moments before the alien backed off, slowly, and watched Carl pack the truck in peace.

And Carl went home alone.

-+-+-  
???????????, USA. +6 DAYS AFTER CONTACT.

“[WE. GIVE. POWER.]”

“Yeah, fuck it, that’s a fair trade.” The Man in The Tower said, rubbing his temples.

He was not in Langley anymore – hell, he was one of the first ushered out to Site 4 – and he was not behind his mahogany desk – the utilitarian steel-and-aluminum furniture lacking all the charm of everything not designed to survive the apocalypse. Worst of all, however, was that he was not properly caffeinated for this.

“Jesus. What are we even looking at here?” President Carter murmured, reviewing a handful of the tower of files that crowded him for his attention. “It’s not like we can force them out of our airspace, but-”

“[WE. GIVE. POWER.]” The Diplomat said, wincing – or giving what the humans would assume was a wince – as his voice boomed from the translator-collar strapped to his neck. “[GIVE. FOREVER.]”

“I’m assuming they’re saying they’ll power us until we can unfuck our grid.” Interior Secretary Wiltjen said, turning the schematic over in his hands – upside down, to the side, holding it like an eye-spy for a few seconds before shrugging and putting it back in place. “Like you said Andy, not like we can tell them to fuck off. Actually, speaking of fucking off, have we been able to-”

“The Russians?” Defence Secretary Gates said, half-laughing. “They’re not taking anyone’s calls. Our embassy, along with literally everyone elses’, has been trying to get someone to answer, up to and including physically breaking down the Kremlin’s doors. Nothin’.”

“[WE. GIVE-]”

“Yes, yes, fuck off already.”

“Don-”

“Oh don’t give me that, Andy.” Defence Secretary Donald Gates said, rummaging around at his feet for a still-full bottle of whiskey. “I’ve given you my debriefing; the fact that we’re not all alien-chow by now is their doing, not ours. Fuck, we don’t even know what we were seeing there for a few points – did you read that bit about teleportation-”

“Yes, I did, like everyone else did. The POINT, Don, is that we have some sort of decorum in this… ceasefire negotiations.” President Andrew Carter sighed, slapping his folder against his own metal desk. “If we don’t, then what’s the point of going on? If we just give up because we, we…”

Donald grunted and hefted another bottle to his lap. To his credit, he didn’t drink it immediately, and instead turned to yet another top-secret super-important file. Without so much as a word he reached forward for a scattered pen and began to add his recommendations to the executive order. They – that is, the heads of state, not the executive orders – were arranged in a semi-circle in the stark bunker, bare concrete walls arcing forward, graced only by incandescent lighting that was installed probably sometime in the 1950’s, and turned on exactly once to check if it worked.

There was a good few minutes when everyone first arrived at the bunker that they thought the place was on fire. Turns out, an inch of dust on incandescent bulbs burns!

Regardless, this was the last-resort location that allowed those living heads of government to continue the American Experiment in relative secrecy and safety. Relative being the key word, because no bunker could sustain the weaponry that was leveled against it from these invaders, and nobody on staff knew how the aliens figured out where they were. One day, they were sequestered away directing the desperate defense of their homeland, the next there was a gift basket placed outside the vault door and a booming request from the heavens (and on every radio frequency) to “STOP. FRIEND. STOP.”

It was enough to get everyone to pause for a moment, and that was enough for the invaders to start the ancient and noble game of charades.

The alien shifted from leg to leg, chittering something to it’s superiors. He was known as The Diplomat – but everyone there knew it was a quirk of translation, and his true name was unknown. Regardless, every nation-state had a “The Diplomat” talking with them, offering them the same deal – free, unlimited, universal power for absolutely nothing in return, which of course meant something was up. The schematics already shared with the scientific community showed the manufacturing steps to make lightweight, hyper-photosensitive material, giving solar panels a damn near 100% efficiency rate. There were also schematics for capacitors, for battery banks, for wireless electrical distribution – all of it not 200 years ahead of mankind’s technological prowess – at best.

They also included how the satellites they were building around the planet used those technologies.

“Ok, so what’s the next steps, chief?”

Carter sighed. “Well, we need to project order and stability-”

He was interrupted by the uncorking of a bottle, and he glared at his Defense Secretary who just shrugged. The Man In The Tower shifted in his seat, coughing slightly. “Right, so? You’ve got Congress 100% in your pocket right now.”

“Universal Draft? Get everyone trained, make them feel safe – or at least, project safety. Make them feel like we were equals at the negotiating table, I figure. How say the other members of NATO?”

“Roundabout the same.” TMITT said, literally rubber-stamping a series of orders with complete disregard to his duty. “People feel better when they can see something being done – anything being done – even if it doesn’t work. Hell, look at the TSA – that bought us decades. Also, for what it’s worth, I just heard that England’s already building pillboxes in Swindon.”

“And these satellites-”

“[GIVE. POWER. ALL.]”

“Well that answers that. Taking it literally, it means free energy for everyone, everywhere. You-toh-pea-ah.” Science and Technology Adviser (STAS) Jessica Clifford said, spinning a pen between her fingers. “Of course… huh.”

“What?” President Carter said, rolling his shoulders. “What now.”

“Well. Just… if we’re beaming free energy to everyone, everywhere, at all times… what happens to this?” Jessica said, waving her hand about in a vague, northernly direction. “All this infrastructure. The dams, the coal mines, the power plants. These wireless receivers act as step-down capacitors and batteries, so there’s literally no need for an energy grid; everyone just becomes their own grid.”

There was a brief pause in the low murmur of communication, as various trains of thought ground to a halt.

“And it’s not like we can’t implement this technology; not only did these bastards beam it to literally everyone, but they’re already building the infrastructure for it. If we don’t take advantage of it ourselves, that’s a strategic advantage to our enemies, but, like. Where does this all go, though? What the fuck do we do with the grid? The Hoover Dam? Or the TVA?”

President Carter closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, letting out a low groan, his body slouching so far into his seat that his fingertips brushed against the caps of various helpful, but as-of-still-yet unopened bottles of respite.

“…That’s 5 Trillion dollars of equipment.” Jessica continued, her voice seeming smaller.

“Not counting the jobs.” Secretary of Labor Bill Forrest said, tapping his pen a couple times against his desk. “Don’t need polemen if there are no poles.”

“So we need the universal draft, and…shit. Give me a list of other infrastructure projects, we might as fucking well-”

“[WE. HELP.]” The Diplomat helpfully added, his forehands wringing against themselves in his exosuit.

Nobody had the heart to correct him.


	14. The Great Clusterfuck, or, I can only be hurt emotionally

When the history books were written – or tablets transcribed, given how technology advanced so quickly – everyone universally agreed on a single point: It _sucked_ to be a government leader during _The Great Clusterfuck_.If you accepted the necessary invader-aid to rebuild your society, your society didn’t trust you. If you didn’t accept the aid, your people starved, died and rebelled against you for _not_ accepting the aid. You didn’t have the funds to build up a military to _take_ aid from the aliens (what with having to rebuild everything else first), and once you started to work with them you’d be treading a fine line taking raw material and turning it into weapons… right in front of them. The universal draft was truly universal, if only to spread the sense of control and “peace through strength”(and that putting a human in a suit and giving him a gun was infinitely cheaper and more discrete than building a new tank).

Then you had the problem, once the universal draft was universal, as to _where the fuck do all these bored recruits go?_ It’s not like you can just hop over the border and have a quick war without literally starting World War 3. Eer. 4.

So maybe as a world leader you finally start relaxing the draft and letting the whole free market be free again; the people that remained got to see the _absolute worst trading day in all of human history_. Absolutely no asset was safe – stocks tanked, bonds were declared worthless, hell, even T-bonds dropped their rates.

Have you ever seen a savings account _lose money_?

……that is, if you were lucky enough that your bank _somehow_ kept your records. Seeing as how everything was _digital_ and how shielding against EMPs wasn’t even on their to-do list, well.

…look it turns out that millions of people who suddenly had absolutely no money or credit but training with guns made for a _very hostile work environment_.

-+-+-

Site 8, USA. +3MO After First Contact.

-+-+-

President Carter had gained a limp.

The limp wasn’t permanent by any means, but his emergency offices’ chair was not the most comfortable one in the world, and it happened to just pinch a nerve in his leg that… well. Over time, gave him a bit of a limp. The Surgeon General wasn’t too concerned, as once Carter finally stopped working 19 hour days at a cold-war era desk, got back to a workout routine and changed seats it would go away. Unless it was psychosomatic. Or it just didn’t.

President Carter also sported an eyepatch.

Now this was _absolutely_ temporary, but again, another casualty of the condition he found himself in. Bunker air just didn’t agree with him or his special eyes, and over the course of the night he rubbed the damn thing raw. The patch was more for his own protection, as continuing to fuss with the itchy orb would only do more damage. Thankfully he was able to get the gauze pad under it coated with a topical anesthetic that took some of the actual sting away, but there was still a dull ache that gave him a soft scowl. As he limped his way up a concrete ramp to a nondescript spartan elevator he grunted a greeting to the awaiting Senator Armstrong. “’Mornin.”

“Good Morning to you too, Mr. President. You look like you’re suffering a fair bit today.”

“Sometimes I wonder why we’re still here. If they haven’t fired any more weapons, why the hell can’t I go back to The White House?”

Senator Armstrong shrugged as he made space for the temporarily-crippled President, nodding to an attendant to work the elevator controls. “You know as well as I do – if the White House isn’t secure you’re no-”

“Yeah, yeah, not allowed back in, but hell, _even this bunker isn_ _’t secure_. For fuck’s sake, we’re meeting the aliens for another weekly conversation _right outside_.” Carter grumbled, idly pressing his fingers against his patch – as pressing _didn_ _’t_ count as rubbing and he wouldn’t get in trouble with the Surgeon General.

“It’s… less from the aliens and more from your constituents. We had another missile attack on the front lawn again.”

President Carter sighed, and remained silent and still for a few seconds as he took in the news. “Well. Did the bastard at least watch for back blast this time?”

“Yep. Three of ‘em, actually. Still didn’t take down the shields, but, having alien tech stapled to the lawn of our seat of government isn’t-”

“Yeah. Bad Optics.”

“Hah.”

Carter looked flatly at his friend, who looked away sheepishly. “So that _wasn_ _’t_ a pun?”

“Steven, I’m drinking powdered coffee that’s older than my parents, I’ve been eating MREs for months, and I shit on a hole in a concrete slab with toilet paper that feels mummified. The thought of getting out of this hellhole is the only thing that’s keeping me together-”

“Right, right. Well. Good news is that our ‘friends’ are here to talk about…yanno. The everything.”

“You mean the global depression that actually put the Fed on suicide watch? What are they offering _now_?”

Armstrong grinned widely and swept his arm forward as the elevator door opened up, the ‘secret’ door built into the side of the mountain slowly swinging open in the distance to let in the pure, unfiltered sunlight.

 _“Nanomachines_.”

– – –

They were arranged in a semi-circle again. The Heads of State, not the paperwork – though that was too, if you wanted to get technical about things. Each Secretary was behind their very own fold-out desk, under a gigantic makeshift-but-semi-permanent tent, the idle wind bowing in the canvas ‘walls’ every so often. Although it should’ve been spacious – the tent was one of those massive event tents, after all – it felt very cramped due to the various attaches, generators, satellite equipment, servers, refreshment tables and the guards.

Good lord, there were a ton of guards.

This was partly because of the most successful jobs program in the history of Mankind, and also because of the small contingent of aliens who were coming down in the same pockmarked ship from the initial invasion. Whether it was a sly jab at the military prowess of the United States, or if the aliens were concerned about our object permanence, President Carter didn’t know or care. Right now, it’s about survival – survive the next day to see the next week to see the next month… one fire to put out at a time.

“[IS GOOD?]”

President Carter sighed externally and slumped again. Man-made fires were one thing; For instance, Texas had declared independence again – immediately followed by various counties within the nascent state deciding _against_ independence, and then forming some microstates – now _that_ was a fire, but one that could be handled. **This** , _this_ was another conflagration and unfortunately, as this was being recorded for posterity’s sake there were no handy bottles of liquor available for him to steal a few moments of peace from. Other than the few discontented murmurs from the rest of his staff the tent was quiet. His Health and Human Services Secretary, Andrew Hernandez, took the easy way out not five minutes ago via a temporary sanity break once he finally parsed the new gift bestowed upon us from the heavens, and had to be tranquilized and hauled out of the tent after he wouldn’t stop laughing.

The lucky bastard.

“No. Is not good.”

“[HE LAUGH. LAUGH GOOD.]”

The Diplomat, who was absolutely unceremoniously named Aaaaa (on account of how it looked and your usual response to what it sounded like) tilted his head in an almost birdlike fashion as it’s translator parsed what he was hearing from the exhausted president’s lips. It thumped it’s padded tail against the ground – again, whether that was a display or a nervous tick, Carter had no idea and _still_ didn’t care.

“[WE GIVE TINY MACHINES FOR HEALING. HEAL MANY. SAVE MANY. MANY FIGHTS. MANY HURT. THIS HELPS.]”

“And we thank you for that. But it’s… not good.” President Carter said, dropping the debriefing folder down on his fold-out table. It contained… well, a _lot_ of things he just didn’t understand, but the gist of it was that it was a machine that built nano-machines that cured about 90% of diseases – _if_ you trusted the alien technology enough to inject it into your body. Considering he was sitting in a tent in the middle of the Appalachian mountains with fully-functioning electrical _everything_ based off of solar-powered satellites, alien tech had a great track record. They were offering multiple machines to every single population center that wanted ‘em. Hell, some were probably agreeing to get them _not even realizing what they are_.

“[FOR WHAT PURPOSE.]”

“It puts more people out of jobs. It ruins more infrastruct- more building. More investment.” President Carter said, his one good eye screwing shut as the same conversation played in his mind from a few months ago. ‘ _What about_ _…all this? All of it?’_ he asked himself, wondering idly if a depression could get _worse_. Aaaaa stood there, tilting it’s head one way, then another, before turning around and saying something to his team behind him. There was very obviously a heated conversation, datapads and trinkets being pulled out and referenced furiously. His guard used to raise their weapons whenever any of ‘em moved, but now…

 _Again. It_ _’s the greatest Jobs program of all Time_. It’s also not like they could stop ‘em if they decided to go all blood-sport about it.

“[BUT SAVE LIVES. MONEY FOR LIFE.]” Aaaaa suddenly said, rounding back towards the President quickly – as if he was struck with an epiphany. “[MONEY FOR LIFE.]” Aaaaa repeated, almost incredulously.

“Well, yeah. Hospitals don’t grow on trees.”

“[SAVE ALL. ALL FREE.]” Aaaaa growled, obviously frustrated at the limitations of his translator, as he began to wave his arms about. “[LIFE NO PRICE. NO MONEY FOR LIFE.]”

President Carter shrugged.

Aaaaa just stared at him in confusion.

Another 8 Trillion dollars of R&D, Medicine, Infrastructure and _jobs_ evaporated between the two of them.

-+-+-+-

The interesting thing about the Armada was not necessarily just it’s size, although it was massive, nor it’s firepower – even though you could argue at the time of it’s assembly it was the most powerful fighting force in all of creation. No, the most interesting thing about the Armada was it’s _diversity_ , because when dealing with a known unknown you have to prepare a little bit for everything, and The Diarchs made sure everyone put aside their petty differences for such a momentous occasion. As with any of the species’ empires, it was less one homogeneous galactic bloc and more a few very large states and some medium-to-minor outlying conclaves that all agreed to play nice. More or less. Regardless, they assembled science barges, medical ships, military ships – of course – but also trading vessels, biome ships, entertainment yachts, floating museums… the list really did go on.

Certainly, soldiers at arms numbered in the hundreds of millions – but the sheer personnel necessary to muster those millions numbered in the _billions_. For every drop pod soldier there were quartermasters, mechanics, armsmen, priests, doctors and other support personnel. For every one of _those_ there were also chefs, janitors, therapists, maintenance crew, subordinates and miscellaneous ones besides. _For every one of those_ there were logistics captains, cargo haulers, raw material processors, entertainers, street vendors, civilian shuttle pilots… you get the point. The tip of the spear is useless without the rest of the spear, and without the hand that holds it, and…

Anyway. Billions of Karnakians stood in confused, often mute stupor as the primitive world below them bowed, broke, stood up again, and then fell over and caught fire. Repeatedly.

You have to understand, _Billions_ stood and watched this. Billions, who had their own hopes, dreams, allegiances and alliances, their own senses of right and wrong. Even if you sniffed through and filtered all traffic, you’d have to watch the watchmen, and then watch those who watch the watchmen, and…well. That’s assuming your pyramid of paranoid parsers could determine what messages were really talking about food poisoning from Ship Sector 118-F’s kitchen, and which ones were coded to Inquisitorial agents back in the home worlds updating them on the unfolding clusterfuck out in the field. That’s not counting tracking all the ships that are coming and going, resupplying and returning home.

So really, everyone in the back of their mind knew it was only a matter of time until the Diarchs stopped getting filtered reports about a “slight kerfuffle”, and a short amount of time after _that_ when the Galactic Community as a whole saw what had happened and would come knocking.

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions’ knew this in the back of his mind, and so spent every waking moment of his and his advisors’ time to setting right the great tragedy that they had inflicted upon this primitive race; not only was it the right thing to do, but it would also allow the necessary negotiating room for his people to… hopefully _not_ face reprisals from their other neighbors.

Hopefully.

-+-+-+-+-+-

Site 8, N.A.E. +7MO After First Contact.

-+-+-

High President Carter of the New American Empire sighed as he limped his way back to The Damned Tent. As the Healthcare Industry crashed, bounced back up and then crashed again, more and more jobs were furiously created by the Government in order to… well. Not have a civil war. Problem is, you can only ship soldiers around to the same few cities doing the same few ditch-digging jobs before some of them wise up and begin to cause trouble. When that’s the case, and your external enemy is not longer really a thing, well… you’ve got to get creative.

A few backroom deals here, a few nods there, and it was determined that the best thing for everyone involved was for America to absorb it’s neighbors.

And sure, there were the few patriots who refused, and the ones who fought against the “liberators” of his armies, but in the background almost everyone was for it. Once Canada and Mexico were “freed”, infrastructure projects began in _earnest_. Rebuilding roads, putting up bridges, all on the backs of American laborers.

All for jobs. For a temporary distraction, to buy much needed time to rebuild whole economies and ways of life.

For putting out a fire.

“Aaaaa.” High President Carter said, nodding to the alien ambassador as he walked into the tent, unceremoniously dropping his constantly-weary body on the fold-out metal chair. 7 Months in a bunker, with no end in sight – especially now since he was dealing with _insurgents_ from former NAFTA members – had removed his last fucks to give. “So. What’s this now?”

“[WE DID NOT KNOW OF YOUR MONEY TRADE WHEN WE GIFTED YOU.]”

“Ok, starting off with an understatement. This is good so far.” He grunted as he lifted his now apparently permanently damaged leg with his arm, crossing it over his good one. Xenos tech worked – some said _too well_ – but as a head of state he couldn’t be compromised on the off chance that there was something … not above board in the technology. So he remained merely human, and suffered for it.

“[OUR WORD TRANSLATORS WORK GOOD ENOUGH TO HOLD BETTER DEBATE SPEAKINGS WITH YOUR PEOPLE, WE FEEL.]” Aaaaa said, dipping his head in what his xenobiologists were assuring him was a deferential gesture. “[OUR LEADER LORD VANGUARD PROTECTOR FIGHTER PURIFIER MAN WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK WITH YOU, AND TALK.]”

The tent grew quiet, and Carter smacked his lips together. “I feel like… Something got lost in translation there, but, alright. Fuck it. Here? Or-”

“[BY VIDEO ON SCREENS.]”

“Of course. Of course I can’t escape this fucking bunker… right! Well. Go ahead and put him on video by screen, then.”

“[YES. WILL BRING YOU SCREEN, WILL HAPPEN NOW.]”

– – –

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ of the Eternal Holy Karnakian Crusade And It’s Infinite Legions shifted uneasily in his chair, a slightly exhausted warble escaping his throat as he prepared to have the first of what would hopefully be many fruitful conversations in his… well.

It was an apology tour, plain and simple.

First Contacts are always touchy subjects, and it takes months, if not _years_ for languages to get translated to the point that you could feel confident that what you said is what you meant. It was an unfortunate truth, because languages evolved differently based on underlying biology, and then have millenia of culture ontop of that to add nuances that are so ingrained into the language as to appear almost natural. Then, of course, you had to throw out all assumptions on how to speak that language, because you didn’t know if words changed based on who you spoke to, or your position in society, or your distance from the home star – nothing was a given.

His programming team would be commended on any other circumstance; quick thinking and long hours had shortened their timeline down to just a couple months, and the idea of starting with the periodic table and moving out from there helped lay the groundwork for some of the more basic words. The real problem was that _there were just so many words:_ Not only did they speak _thousands_ of languages on this one planet, but each language in and of itself had regional dialects, and then slang ontop of that!

He was assured that their language matrices were far enough along that they would convey more complex meaning, and that by careful and slow conversation they could begin negotiating a withdrawal that would not only leave this species in a better position, but also not create an entire race of enemies that would hunt them down in a couple hundred years in a bloody genocidal war of attrition.

At least, he hoped so.

Straightening his back he rolled his head, his neck popping in various places.

“|Um. High Lord-|”

“|Uri’krei, please. It is our duty to not harm our brothers, and we have done them a great ill. I will not be persuaded from returning to them 7-fold what we have taken.|”

“|It’s uh. Not that.|”

“|Well then, what is it? We’re about to go live with one of their leaders-|”

“|Ah. I’ve… received an encoded message.|”

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ sat there, flatly looking at his EM Lord. “|And.|”

“|It’s… from the Embassy of the Noble-Family-Hunters-Yearning-For-Life… asking us what we’re building way out here in the middle of nowhere, and reminding us about our mutual defense pact.|”

“|No.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ groaned, vigorously scratching his molting feathers free from his neck in an uncontrollable stress response.

“|And they wanted to let us know-|”

“|Noooooooo.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ growled, his claws dragging up and down his neck in anxious patterns.

“|-that they should be warping in any minute now-|”

The cameras turned on.

“|GREAT SOUL DAMN IT.|” High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ roared, his fists slamming against his console.

“[GREETINGS. SAME GREETING TO YOU. WE ARE SAME SOULS.]” A _very_ haggard looking local said, dipping it’s head in greeting. “[A GOOD DAY FOR YOU TOO.]”

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ screwed his eyes shut for a moment, composing himself, before opening them again and plastering on a forced smile. “|Greetings, Noble Leader.|”

“[GREETINGS.]”

“|We are very, very sorry for the pain we have caused you.|”

“[YES. NEW PAIN DAILY.]”

High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ winced. “|Y-yes… and we are sorry. We wish to give you more-|”

“[NO. PLEASE NO.]” The local said, shooting up straight in his seat, his arm lifting up in a possible pleading gesture. “[NO MORE HELP.]”

“|You… would say what that help is. We want you to prosper.|”

The local put it’s head in it’s hands, letting out an untranslatable groan that High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ could identify with on a _spiritual_ level. “|We… we want to be allies. To help you on your way to the stars.|”

The leader looked up, his gaze seeming to pierce The High Lord as if he was but a mere hatchling. “[WHAT COST.]”

“|None.|”

It was at this fortuitous time that the (who we wound up calling The Dorarizin) ‘scouting’ fleet showed up in orbit around the planet Earth, hovering for only a few moments before gently – but loudly and insistently, broadcasting a signal that roughly translated to “{Well what’s all _this_ then? Is that a new species?! **_WHY IS EVERYTHING ON FIRE_** _-}_ ” but High Lord Inquisitor-Commander Tr’’’’r’’ wasn’t paying attention to that particular hail. No, his eyes were plastered on the screen before him, where the local leader was hailed by his own EM Lord-equivalent. There was some yelling – parts of it translated, parts of it not – before the leader stood up and ripped his top clothing off, letting out an untranslated and inarticulate yell as he bodily _lept_ onto Diplomat Quri’rurag, attempting to choke him through his environmental suit.

“[ **TINY MACHINES, CHILD**. I CAN ONLY BE HURT EMOTIONALLY.]” A much larger native bellowed as he tackled Quri’rurag, dragging him down to the ground.


	15. Epilogue part one: MIPSY MUST DIE

-+-+-+-

Vik, Iceland. +They stopped caring, After First Contact

-+-+-+-

High President Carter sighed as yet another intern just…. Didn’t show up.

It wasn’t that interns dodging their daily duties was anything _new_ , per se – the youth had been slacking since there were youth and things to do. It was more that this intern was part of his delegation to meet the new species that had just appeared in orbit a few days ago and triggered another wave of panic, paranoia, and brutal global crackdowns. When they finally broadcast the whole “Oh God please stop we’re not doing anything relax” message, mankind learned a few things:

(1) What had happened to them was _absolutely not_ how First Contact was supposed to go

(2) There are more of the xeno bastards

(3) We should probably accept their offer of unconditional alliance

(4) _What do you mean there are more that aren_ _’t here yet_

(5) OH GOD NO MORE SHIPS PLEASE-

So the few remaining now nigh-unstoppable superpowers of Earth got together and tried to figure out where negotiations would happen. Every country naturally said “Not in my backyard” and so, well. Iceland was voluntold that it would hold negotiations because (1) it’s basically in the middle of nowhere that’s still easily-reachable, (2) it’s still large enough to wage a limited and desperate land war if necessary and (3) what were they going to do in retaliation, not sell herring at us? Aggressively win Eurovision? Please.

And so Iceland finally came to terms with the fact that more military might and expendable lives were going to be put on it’s soil than in anywhere or at any other time in history, and subsequently voluntold the small, southernmost city… eer. Town. Hamlet? Collection of buildings the locals called “Vik” that it really should dress in their Sunday best and be prepared for guests.

The entire town shrugged, got in their fishing boats and set sail to the Faroe Islands.

So that chain of events led to High President Carter sighing in another windswept kevlar tent, tightly holding his cup of cold-war era coffee as he spoke through a translator to European Union Chancellor Viksburg, Oceania Defense Pact Minister Gopi, and Chinese Extended Economic Cooperative Zone Administrator Zheng.

“…and _still_ no word from the Russians?”

The Chancellor shrugged and shook his head. “No. From what we can tell they’re acting as if it’s a totally headless government. We _know_ there’s someone pulling the strings, but they’re so underground and through so many layers of smoke and mirrors that…”

“It’s impossible. We’re still months into, ah, questioning their embassy representatives, but we’ve got no luck.” The slightly overweight Adminsitrator said, rocking slightly in his fold-out chair. “Either they died, which our visitors refute, or their ambassadors weren’t kept in the loop to contingency plans.”

“None of this matters.” The Minister said, making a chopping motion with his hand. “We can embargo their people, or take their lands if necessary to find them. Right now, we have more pressing concerns.”

“Mmm.” Carter grunted, taking a sip of bitter, strong coffee. “The Latin Coalition still hasn’t finalized… _anything_ , and I don’t think the African Union is going to join us, so it’s just us for today.”

“Yes. Just about 70% of Humanity. I think we’ll be ok.” Minister Gopi said, smirking.

“Still.” Viksburg sighed, straightening his leg with a slightly sickening _pop_. “It would be better to show a unified front, and not doing so doesn’t help project coherency to our new guests.”

“I think we can be given a pass, what with the civil wars and shenanigans going on.”

“Regardless, we should pr-”

There was a hail from a separate tent that was echoed by multiple others; although Humanity was becoming more interdependent on each other, there was still absolutely no way in hell that the various factions _trusted_ each other.

That would be madness.

So instead, There was a single main welcoming and negotiating tent, and then linked to that were separate staging areas for each new Empire’s various soldiers, intelligence officers, communications technicians, _interns_ , and various other people who stood around the coffee machine and justified their existence. Each tent was connected to various mobile staging trucks with various radar and long-range communication and identification equipment, and each one of _those_ had apparently picked something up at the same time.

Their new visitors were arriving.

There was the subsequent flurry of activity from each Empire’s subordinates – anti-aircraft defenses kicked online and began active tracking, honor guard lined up in impressive formation, special operations soldiers buried themselves into the surrounding area – and the leaders all shared a look with each other…

…and did absolutely jack shit.

“So what are you thinking, Mr. President?”

“Trial by combat. You, Administrator?”

“Hmm. Tribute, of course. Why destroy when you can farm?”

“Aah, of course.”

There was a supersonic rumble of jets – both human and decidedly _not_ , as the new alien dropship was enveloped by Terran atmosphere, rapidly burning off speed as it’s escorts began a lazy, high overwatch.

“Whelp. Kick ‘em in the balls if they take me out.” President Carter said, slamming back the rest of his coffee.

– – – –

Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul stretched in the cramped compartment, clicking her teeth in anxious frustration; This was _no place_ for a princess of the Emperor!

Well. “Princess”. She was definitely in _line_ for The Throne-at-The-Center-of-All-Things, but it wasn’t an immediate ascension; More like… well. If there were a few unfortunate accidents and a couple dozen abdications and if her Aunt Gruazng would just go explore the unknown reaches for another 500 years then _maybe_. But she knew her position within the family and she knew that position is _why she was there_ ; after Fleet Operation _Dust and Echoes_ all the policy wonks got together and decided to send their own Armada to this new alien species’ home system, heavy in culture and science ships and much _much_ lighter in naval armaments than their Eternal-All-Lights-Within comrades. Of course a Royal Representative needed to be there, and she _was_ trained in negotiation, cultural appreciation, etiquette…

…she was also expendable. Granted, her life would be paid for dearly, and there was an almost zero percent chance that any of the locals would try _anything_ , given their unique… physiology and current technological level, but.

But.

But there _were_ Eternal-All-Lights-Within dead. There _was_ a near-zero percent chance that their AI missed, that turned out to be true. This home world did burn.

So.

So here she was. Standing shoulder to shoulder with other various ambassadors, attendees, waiting-staff, and a handful of honor guard, all stuffed into an admittedly spacious and luxurious dropship that _would_ have allowed for room to move had it also not been stuffed with various trinkets, sweet-meats, bolts of cloth, art… To be honest, she was used to being pampered, and having _anyone_ other than her accustomed waitstaff in the same ship sector as her was enough to put a frown on her face. The fact that she had to share it with _cargo_ was downright demeaning! So what if they wanted “a single target to escort in case of emergencies and to reduce groundside anxiety”, they were a star-spanning empire, Damnit! They could’ve afforded a couple more ships!

Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul inhaled deeply, and exhaled, idly reaching up to adjust her recently-fabricated translation collar. _This home world **did** burn_.

‘{Pull in your temper}’ she said to herself, rolling her shoulders. ‘{This is a momentous occasion and you’re Blessed by the Hunt-of-Good-Lands to have been chosen among your siblings to go.}’ She straightened up just as her Dropship bled that last bit of speed, landing on the soft alien soil so delicately that only the all-clear from her Pilot’s communicator gave any indication that they had ended their journey, let alone broke through atmosphere from the heavens. The ramp extended, the door slid open, and gentle alien sunlight bathed the interior of her ship.

And so her Honor Guard marched out, and she and her retainers followed.

– – –

“Good God.”

“Don’t you mean Good Dog?” Carter quipped as the brightly armored, slightly-larger-than-polar-bear sized …well, _wolves? Bears? Gorilla-dogs?_ Exited the ornately-decorated ship, marching in perfect formation down the ramp and to either side. Carter knew enough from his time in the military to know honor guard when he saw them, and there was a 50-50 shot that the weapons they held weren’t loaded.

They probably carried the ammunition on them somewhere, though.

His own – and that of his colleagues – quickly snapped to attention, flags and standards waving gently in the cool breeze. He idly scanned the line, seeing the same steely-eyed yet _bewildered_ look on everyone’s faces.

 _‘Welcome to my world_ ’ he said to himself, grinning as he stood up as the Officially-looking Official disembarked. “Anyone mind if America takes the honors?”

“Go ahead, Gweilo. I’ll wait here.”

“Suit yourself, Zheng.” Charter said, adding in an over-exaggerated nonchalant shrug. “Can’t get much worse at this point, and nobody’s giving me hazard pay.”

And with that, High President Carter of the New American Empire marched forward in greeting.

– – –

“{How in the world do they balance?}”

Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul turned her head slightly to her attendant’s outburst, making a mental note to discipline her later. “{ _That_ is inappropriate.}” Gew-Zgranzre whispered, keeping her eye on the local leader as he… essentially _wobbled_ towards them. “{But not totally incorrect.}”

“{Apologies, Ma’am.}”

“{Mmm.}” Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul acknowledged, plastering on the slightly bemused but totally uninterested mask of the elite, mentally slipping into practiced and drilled forms of etiquette. Feet placed just _so_ , arms bent just _so_ , bracelets of heraldry extended to show lineage and birthright – she posed herself slightly, delicately, dipping her head in a greeting of equals. Mostly equals. Ok, she might have still had some knots in her fur over being shipped with the _fucking cargo_ , but, it would be wrong for her to take it out on these innocent and relatively tiny-

“?H—z ppbt **.-@#—%r GUH.?”

“Welcome to Earth. Care for some coffee?”

“{Okay, _seriously_ -}” Gwe-Zgranzre said, blinking as the tiny local flashed his tiny teeth at her in… greeting? She turned to look at her Banner attendant, who was doing his absolute _damndest_ to not start laughing.

“? ##A ** …. W@@@s—** b-BU r*^^*^?”

“ _Holy shi-_ eer, wow. That’s a sound right out of my nightmares.”

Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul inhaled deeply, letting the cool air calm her down. She took in notes of alien flora, of the spray of their water, of the scent of her comrades and the burn of the engines.

It grounded her, and she smiled to herself. ‘{Your new translator, you fool.}’ she chided, and reached up to flick on the slim collar, the external devices’ speakers popping on as the local bravely drew closer.

“{Greetings, locals of Earth.}”

“[GREETINGS PEOPLE.]” Her translator boomed, and she gave another small dip of her head at the leader within arm’s reach.

“Seriously, why are your lips wiggli-is THAT YOUR TEETH?!”

“[VERIFICATION. I SEE YOUR TEETH.]” The local said, leaning back and staring intently at her mouth. Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul thought to herself for a moment and gave a mental shrug – customs were customs, and who was she to judge? She passively opened her mouth and performed a gum check, moving her upper-outer, upper-inner and bottom-middle row of teeth one after the other, from left to right, before loudly rippling them back in the opposite direction. She sheer surprise of her ability – teeth use must be important to them – impressed the ambassador so much he started to fall backwards.

Started to. Quickly and delicately she reached forward, loosely wrapping her arm around the torso of the alien and holding him steady. She had… seen the footage, and knew how to better act.

As was expected of someone of her station and breeding, to another.

“JESUS GOD, WHY.”

“[FIRST FATHER. EXPLAIN.]” Her translator helpfully chirped, causing the local to again do a full-body flinch. She tried to stand up, to make sure the ambassador wasn’t hurt – or would be hurt, and breathed deeply to center herself. She took in the same notes of alien flora, of the spray of their water, of the scent of her comrades and the burn of the engines, of a newborn pup.

Wait.

Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul furrowed her brow and inhaled again. Flora. Water. Pack. Need. An Emptiness that needs to be made whole. _Wrongness_.

No.

“{Please, forgive me. Are you alright?}”

“[APOLOGY. YOU ARE UNINJURED?]” Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul stood up the Ambassador, resting her hand on his side in a comforting manner. The local grabbed her much larger arm with his smaller hands, grounding himself.

“Ye-yes. Yes. Thank you.”

“[YES.]”

“{Good. I’m glad.}”

“[GOOD.]” Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul said, smiling gently at the little one before her. He stood up fully, adjusting his clothing before pulling away –

-ah. No.

Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul gently tugged him back towards her, adjusting his torso covering slightly; it had folded in on itself, and was terribly wrinkled, which really wouldn’t do. The Ambassador nodded his thanks, and stepped backwards –

-ah. No.

Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul gently but _insistently_ tugged him back towards her. Although she was with her Honor Guard, and various house Attendants, it wouldn’t do for him to fall over again, _especially_ when she was responsible – somehow – for the first time. No, she should make sure he was properly grounded… a chair, perhaps? Something to lounge on? She couldn’t just _leave him_ _alone_ , even though she trusted these people with her life-

“Thank you, um. May I… introduce you to my people? Perhaps, my wife as well?”

“[THANK YOU. WE MAKE INTRODUCTIONS TO MY PEOPLE AND MY HEAD WIFE.]”

Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul furrowed her brow again. A head wife? _Already_? Sure, she was no stranger to political marriages, but no, this was _too_ early.

 **No**.

Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul very purposefully unclenched her hand, letting the ambassador’s clothing go, and he took a few quick steps backwards away from her. _By the empty sky,_ _what had gotten into her?!_ She was **The** representative for Her Empire, Her People, HER FAMILY-

She gently and insistently reached forward towards her family, grabbing only empty air.

-ah. _No_. No. He’s… this _thing_ was not an abandoned pup. It was not her kin, it was not her people. It was not part of her empire, it was not part of her pack, it was not from her litter, it was not, it was not, it was not.

It was not being a very obedient child.

Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul darted forward, wrapping the _abandoned_ alien boy in her arms gently but forcefully. She inhaled deeply in reflex; Flora. Water. Pack. Need. _Wrongness_. So much _wrongness_ , and she would set it right. Gwe-Zgranzre-of-Ngrul looked down at her new charge, smiling warmly as the alien went completely limp, draping over in her arms.

That was ok. He was not being a very obedient child, but he just needed to be _loved-_

Sighing to herself, she picked up the abandoned Ambassador and cradled him, turning to walk back up the ramp.

“THE BALLS, ZHENG. GO FOR THE BALLS.”

“[MALE GENITALS. PAY ATTENTION TO THEM.]” he called out to no one in particular, his petulance continuing as he was taken into the ship. As the minutes dragged on, He was joined along with a couple dozen of his other abandoned brothers and sisters, wrapped in warm cloth and protected in the center of their ship.

So much wrongness, but they would be set right.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-

BOOKER sighed in the cumbersome HAZMAT suit, using his approved tungsten-aluminum procurement device – AKA “the pokey stick” – to sift through some of the less reactive rubble in Piedmont Park. After the global ceasefire he and everyone else from the CDC were basically carted over here to figure out _what the fuck is going to kill us all_.

So far, the deadliest thing they could find were shards of aluminum from a damaged ship, a couple abandoned MREs, a few alien nuts – which were taken to a blacksite hangar, along with roughly 15 tons of dirt that they rested on – and some scattered alien tech.

“Having fun over there?” MISTY said, chuckling deeply. “Come on, we’ve got another 5 minutes and then we disrobe.”

“Yeah, but _fuck_ this suit, man. They could’ve at least given us the airpump ones-”

“Closed system, friend.” MISTY smiled, his voice heavily muffled. “Now, let’s just finish sweeping this grid and-”

There was a noise.

Usually, this is no point of concern, but when you’re at the site of an alien ship with scattered xeno technology about, _this was a point of concern_. With a simple arm gesture, both men pointed in a direction and made a sign with their hands.

Roughly an entire company’s worth of weapons were pointed in that vague direction.

“What the fuck was that?” BOOKER said, scanning the area.

“Dunno, sounded like-”

MISTY never finished his sentence as out of a _fucking trashcan_ leapt a small, dirty, feral-looking-

“Is that a DOG?” BOOKER exclaimed, laughing. “Oh my FUCKING GOD, that’s a dog!”

The two men laughed for a moment, waving down the surrounding military as the animal bounded off, obviously very distraught at spending the past few days stuck in a trashca-

-the animal stopped, and started to devour _something_ on the ground.

“Wait. WAIT. What’s that it’s eating? It’-”

BOOKER began to run forward as the small dog ate _something_ decidedly not terran. Other ABC agencies – the FBI, ATF, NSA, CIA – began running as well, realizing the situation. It looked up at the sprinting HAZMAT suit, opened it’s mouth and borked.

The miniature shield drone that was lodged in it’s throat took the subvoalization rush of air as a command, and ejected a small amount of energy at an appreciable enough speed to knock BOOKER right on his ass.

  
  
  
Everyone froze in place, save for the ATF Agents, who rose to fight their greatest battle.


	16. Epilogue part two: Ceremonial Trashcan Fires

First Contact – Well, the FIRST first contact – was a momentous occasion for multiple reasons: Mankind learned we’re not alone in the universe, we learned how far behind we are in terms of technology, and at least in one possibly possessed Australian’s case, learned how to flip a Karnakian onto it’s back and check her plumage.

…that came out wrong.

Point is, is that the riots, existential ennui, the … _war_ , the surrounding mass panic and helter-skelter nature of humanity was on display – and basically to be expected, sure, but it was somehow… _right_ to do. After all, you only get invaded by aliens once, right? So some people reveled in the boogalooening, some people took off innawoods, and a few just wished for everyone to be quiet because they finally had a few days off after working 15 days straight. Mankind got it out of their system, a new normal started to settle in, and life continued. Life was _hard_ , but it continued; although our new ‘ _guests_ _’_ were apologetic benefactors, the damage had been done. With a wary eye, mankind accepted gifts from the stars, and suffered the growth pangs for it.

Then the Dorarizin showed up.

There was a second initial wave of mass panic – _Were they friends? Enemies? Was Earth going to host a war between two alien empires? Were they here to enslave? Did we now have two masters to serve –_ wild, rampant speculation was the order of the day. Another round of mass panic, another round of riots, of curfew and of martial law. The dust settled, more Karnakian bodies were buried, and we learned that our new NEW guests were also kind, egalitarian benefactors.

The fact that they kidnapped the heads of state was a minor speedbump, really; after terse negotiations, a couple of feisty kicks to the jewels (or where they should’ve been, at least) and a few days of naptime President Carter, along with European Union Chancellor Viksburg, Oceania Defense Pact Minister Gopi, and Chinese Extended Economic Cooperative Zone Administrator Zheng were allowed off the landing craft – but only if they came back before curfew and had an escort the entire time they were gone.

All in all, a successful Second First Contact. A New NEW normal settled in as Mankind tried to understand interstellar power dynamics, learn about their new visitors, and generally get used to the fact that not only was life _everywhere_ in the cosmos, but that they were going to rapidly be acquainted with it.

Then the Jornissians showed up.

Now, of course, by this time not only were the Jornissian Governate aware of the discovery of the new species, but they were also briefed on what exactly happened. There was a grand closed-door debate between representatives on what response should be given, and some of the more hawkish voices won out: Freedom, _especially_ that of an innocent people, must be preserved at all costs. So, the Jornissians assembled their own Armada of Equals and set off for the Human homeworld.

Eight months after the Dorarizin “checked in” on their Karnakian Allies, a Jornissian first-contact fleet de-warped around Earth, it’s ships spreading across the southern horizon in a display of might, culture, scientific advancement and reach.

In response, a few trashcans were ceremoniously lit on fire and kicked over before being put out.  
  
  


-+-+-+-

Negotiation/Visitation Site 1, Vik, Iceland. +1y4M after First Contact or +1,000,000,000 years in politician.

-+-+-+-

President Carter groaned softly as he flopped in the fold-out metal chair. He hadn’t shaved in a month, and his disheveled and unclean beard had grown from a sleek black to a spotty white. His hair remained an auburn brown, but that was mainly due to the hair dye he had started to use; whether he kept his natural color or was now pure-gray, he didn’t know and honestly didn’t care at this point.

**_There were more of the bastards_ ** **.**

Now granted, the Spacewolves weren’t so bad; apparently humans triggered their deeply-ingrained instincts and provoked a natural protection response. Considering the _myriad other instincts_ that could have been triggered, everyone involved agreed this was an alright thing to happen and there were no hard feelings and everyone involved is a fine upstanding person but _could we please go home it_ _’s been 2 weeks now and you talk in your sleep_. It had taken roughly a month for scientists and doctors on both sides to start to figure out what was going on, and by then the instinct had lessened to the point that negotiations could happen…

Administrator Zheng’s forehead dropped onto the table with an unceremonious _thud_ , startling him wide awake once more. At one point that would’ve made everyone laugh, but now…

**_There were more of the bastards._ **

So nobody got any sleep. Nobody was going home for the holidays, nobody was going on leave, nobody got to do anything other than be a proper little puppet for the power structures back home, desperately putting out fires, maintaining order and oppressing _cults_ , if you could believe it. Pulling double-shifts was expected, and combat sleep was the only type of sleep anyone got. Caffeine and Nicotine were provided freely, and in some more unscrupulous units, stronger stimulants still. New data was always pouring in; final body counts, infrastructure damage, paradigm-wakes from the new technology – all of it had to be compiled, condensed, and used as leverage for negotiating. The irony of once-advanced nations going to hyper-advanced alien species and learning they were basically all back on the barter system was…

It would be funny **_if there weren_** ** _’t more of the bastards._**

“Mr. President?” Senator Armstrong said, poking his head into the smaller, cramped tent. “They’ll be landing in 15 minutes.”

“Mmm.”

Senator Armstrong frowned, and waded through the trash-floor to his leaders’ desk. MRE-wrappers, instant-noodles, cans of red bull and ginseng and beer crunching under the large man’s feet. “Mr. President, you need to be present when the new visitors land.”

“Mmnot gonna.”

“Steven-”

“Why do we even _have_ a Vice President if he’s not going to do anything!”

“Sir, he’s running basically the entire continent in your absence.”

“Trade him.”

“No, Mr. President. Come on.” Sen. Armstrong said, scooting the President’s chair back and lifting him under his arms. “You have to go-”

President Carter went limp in his grip.

“Goddamnit Steven.”

– – –

President Carter was propped up.

I don’t mean that in a “he was a puppet on a string, beholden to greater masters” kind of way, but in a literal “he was so exhausted he basically was using his interns as a wall to lean on” way. He had been up for a solid 36 hours preparing for this event, and it had run him ragged; after the Spacedogs and Spacedinosaurs shared information about the new species, nobody got any sleep.

 _They were giant snakes_. _Giant, **angry-looking** snakes._

Everyone prepared as much as they could be bothered to; special forces took their familiar positions up in the hills and houses, weaponry was pointed to the landing site to wipe it off the map, the coffee maker was replaced with the deluxe espresso one that nobody knew how to work but everyone agreed looked very impressive and helped project an air of ‘we’re competent and know what we’re doing’. The various flags of the new and old territories were marched in, soldiers and honor guard standing at perfect attention, and before them all were a group of negotiators, scientists, doctors and four _very exhausted_ leaders.

If Carter was more awake and aware – well, aware without the extreme abuse of stimulants – he would’ve appreciated the unique architecture and design of the drop ship that landed not a few dozen yards away, it’s curves and lines like nothing he’d ever seen. He would’ve admired the heraldry riveted to it’s sides, and the inscriptions on the ship itself. He would have, if it weren’t for the predominant thought of ‘ _Good God, let_ _’s just get this over with.’_ That currently dominated his every moment.

Then the snakes ‘marched’ out.

Carter’s exhausted brain didn’t really register how they moved; it looked like a sentient braid, or a hydra, as each body followed the other in perfect sync, how no tail trod on the other, how they all moved as a single unit. For a brief moment he thought they were all _one_ being, but they split off once off-ramp taking ceremonial positions known only to them. After a few moments the Space-snake Ambassador and his retinue slithered down the ramp, it’s fierce eyes immediately locking onto his own.

Neither of them blinked, as the one moved towards the other. The snake, because it couldn’t – not really – and the human, because his hindbrain was currently debating if another bump of amphetamines would allow him to escape, or if embracing the sweet release of death was worth it at this point.

“[WE GREET YOU IN PEACE, LEADERS. I AM THE AMBASSADOR.]”

“F-figured that.” Carter mumbled as the giant snake finished hiss-screaming and leaned back, staring down furiously at the human. It’s neck flared out, and it seemed to roll and pop it’s jaw in a way that was just _wrong._

Carter’s hind brain processed the beast before it and just accepted death with a slight mental shrug.

– – –

Speaker-Ambassador Hrrprsnk’krespk smiled as he eyed up the primitive alien.

It was a cold part of their homeworld, granted – only one sun and a tilted orbit would do that, and from what data they had shared with the rest of the Senate the planets’ climate changed regularly enough that not only was it predictable, but welcomed by the local inhabitants. That didn’t mean it was _comfortable_ , mind you, but a little cold never hurt anyone and grew thick scales. But as Hrrprsnk’krespk took in the local leader he noticed a couple things immediately; First, that they were very tiny – which refuted a couple ‘you must be X large to be sentient’ academic arguments back home – and second, they seemed to _absolutely radiate heat_.

The Spiritual Stargazers were more… cool-blooded, somewhat; they generated some heat, but still needed ambient temperatures to be comfortable. Clutchmate Seekers were warm, sure, but it was trapped under all that _fur_ , and even if you bunked with one there was no guarantee that it would keep you comfortable – by Harsak-who-Devours-the-Dead, it was easier and less fuss to put a couple heating packs under an emergency blanket and use that instead.

But _these_ small aliens were basically radiating heat like it was going out of style. He welcomed their warmth to his thermo-receptors, slowly waking to the various heat signatures around him. It was cool for his people, certainly, but these locals probably didn’t even notice the temperature.

 _Fascinating_.

“<I understand that there has been much turmoil in recent times among your peoples, and for that we apologize on behalf of the rest of the Intergalactic Senate.>”

“[WHEN DAY IS DARK. ALWAYS REMEMBER HAPPY DAY.]”

“<Yes, it is good to be resilient. Our people are here to support yours in every way we can; do not hesitate to reach out to us. The path of Liberty is a rough one which wears on all treads uneavenly, but throughout time…>”

– – –

President Carter somehow found himself getting more and more exhausted by the moment. First contacts were one thing, the end of civilization was another thing entirely, but what he _absolutely did not expect_ was to stand before an alien politician and hear it _stump speech_ at him.

It just wouldn’t **stop**.

Now granted, at this point the translators that had been gifted by their other benefactors had gone through multiple revisions, but everyone was aware it was a game of telephone and that translations were going to be imperfect for quite some time moving forward. The fact that the translators were external and did _not_ mask the native speech was not lost on the Human delegations, and it wasn’t unheard of for negotiations to start only for one side to uncontrollably _flinch_ at the sound of the others’ opening comments. The birdsong-like roaring of the Spacedinos was nothing like the backfiring bone chainsaw of the Spacewolves – each one was it’s own fresh hell to listen to.

But this?

“[MANY BADS HAVE TO BE STOPPED. MANY GOODS MUST BE MADE. WE HELP GOODS AND STOP BADS. DO NOT STEP ON-]”

It was if a white noise machine was cranked up to eleven, implanted it into a purring tiger and then taped _that_ to a busted steam pipe. It wasn’t so much as a speech as it was just _noise_ , and _aggressive noise_ at that. As the alien politician got more and more into his (probably) rousing speech, he twisted and gyrated in intricate and unfortunate shapes and always, _always_ kept his unblinking eyes fixed on Stevens’. It demanded his rapt, _complete_ attention, and that was something that the overflow of fear inside of the President was more than happy to give… for a while.

After all, he’s only human. He’s been up for 37 hours, his adrenal glands were shot, his knees were weak and arms heavy, and he’s only human. Sometimes, man by sheer force of will can overcome his body and achieve astounding things not thought physically possible. Sometimes, the human body wins and the mind is forced to shut down, retreat within itself and let time and chance wash over it.

Against his will and good judgment, President Carter’s eyes screwed shut in exhaustion. The sudden prolonged darkness was enough to trick his brain into thinking everyone and everything had gone away and it might as well take a break because if it couldn’t see the problems, they didn’t exist. Imperceptibly, President Carter tipped forward, losing balance as he fell asleep on his feet.

Thankfully for everyone involved, Speaker-Ambassador Hrrprsnk’krespk was there to catch him. Before President Carter hit the ground he was greeted with cool scales and a firm grip, his unconscious body quickly rolled into the Speaker-Ambassador’s own extremely-long torso. Nobody moved for a few moments as they processed _exactly_ what just happened, and a few human guards half-heartedly raised their weapons slightly.

“[IT IS FINE. WE ARE FINE. HOW ARE YOU?]”

European Union Chancellor Viksburg yawned fiercely, scratching his side quite unceremoniously. “Well… can’t say I don’t envy him. Could you let him up, though? We’ve got another caffeine epipen we could use to-”

“[NO. IT IS FINE.]”

Chancellor Viksburg sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “God… again?”

“[THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE.]”

“No, just.” Viksburg waved his hand around a bit. “Nothing. Why won’t you release him?”

“[HE IS FINE.]”

“. . .right, let’s just give him a little tug-”

Speaker-Ambassador Hrrprsnk’krespks’ body instinctualy tightened a bit, the dead-to-the-world President of the New American Empire slowly disappearing in his coils, causing everyone to freeze. “[IS FINE.]”

The equally-exhausted Chancellor of the European Union stared up at the Ambassador for a few moments, internally weighing _something_ in his mind, before giving a physical shrug. “Fine, fuck it. Make space.”

“[WHAT.]”

And so the President of the New American Empire was joined by the Chancellor of the Expanded European Union, The Oceania Defense Pact Minister, and the Administrator of the Chinese Extended Economic Cooperative Zone, all of whom were far too tired for any more nonsense and who finally got a full and uninterrupted 12 hours of sleep.

– + – + – + – + – + – + – + – + – + –

“——”

He floated up from a shock his mind couldn’t fathom, from pain and confusion and _primal fear-_

“——— – – ——.”

He floated up from a black pit, the oppressive weight pressing down on his chest slowly getting easier and easier to lift. He inhaled, dimly aware that a mask was on his face.

“Hey. Hey – Hey.”

Someone was saying something… but it was hard to concentrate. They were words, he knew them, but that wasn’t important. He inhaled again, deeper, and the fog cleared far enough from his mind for him to think for a moment. ‘ _Something_ _… about a park. His wife’s dog. About a movie? Was he in a movie?_ ’

“Good Morning, Hank. I’m Dr. Pratchett. I need you to breathe deep, ok? Breathe deep for me.”

It sounded like a good idea, so he did so.

“Alright. Keep doing that – can you breathe deep for me one more time?”

He did so, and his eyes opened. He was staring at a tiled drop ceiling, something that wouldn’t look out of place at any school, office complex –

– he finally heard the beeps.

 _Hospital_.

“Hnnnnnnnnnnlfh.”

“Hey hey hey hey-” He felt hands on his shoulders, pushing him back into the tilted bed. “None of that, no movement. You’re still recovering.”

Hank turned to look at a doctor – a _normal_ doctor. Nurse? Doctor. Somewhere after 40 with mocha-colored skin and no discernible accent, he seemed absolutely normal and _absolutely out of place_.

“Haaanlinen. Haaa?”

“Try words.”

“Mmmmmmipsh.” His dog? He clenched his fists. Why… why would he talk about his fucking _dog_ –

“Mipsy is still at-large and considered armed-”

No!

No, he wasn’t in a movie! He was… there were _aliens_ , he wasn’t dreaming it! There were aliens and police and then he fell an-

Hank _lurched_ forward, his oxygen-starved brain finally running on 3 out of 4 cylinders.

_His arms were ripped off. He felt his warmth pour out, the cold ice take his chest. The pain – **oh God the pain** – the movement, the **fear-**_

“No no no NO – NURSE! HE’S HAVING A PANIC ATTACK AGAIN-”

Hank violently thrashed against the nurse – doctor – it didn’t matter who, there were too many of them and they were holding him down and _he needed to get out he needed to-_

It started to get hard to breathe again. That weight was back… it was enough. He wasn’t so much tired as just… shut off. He knew he was attacked; he knew oblivion again.

– – –

“[HE BETTER.]”

Special Operations Combat Doctor Pratchett, to his credit, flinched only slightly as the translator kicked in. They were by no means in a _traditional_ hospital; more like a purpose-built facsimile floating high above Atlanta in a ship far beyond his – or any other Humans’ – comprehension. Various species came and went in the background, but always this one stayed. Always it looked through the one-way screen, always it stood vigil.

“A little. No cardiac arrest this time.”

The alien growl-trilled something to itself that the translator either didn’t bother to pick up, or couldn’t. Pratchett knew guilt when he saw it – species barriers be damned – and sighed, resting his hands on the small of his back. “Look… you’re not the only one. There are others-”

“[NO.]”

“Mmm. T-Talk to them, sometime. I will let you know if his condition changes; we’ll try to rouse him in a few hours-”

“[NO. I WILL NOT FAIL AGAIN.]”

Dr. Pratchett stared at the alien, and the alien stared back. After a few moments the good doctor collected himself, gave a slight nod of his head, and left Aq’rel’a to stand vigil. Mr. Hill was getting better – each time, a little closer, a few less problems, a little stronger. One day soon, he would be able to wake up and prosper.  
  


When that day came, she was there.  
  


When that day came, she was there to apologize, and he was there to forgive.  
  
  


– + – + – + – + – + – + – + – + – + –

Site 5 was unlike most anything else on the planet; it was an impromptu library of culture, of words, of history and of science, all bent towards one singular goal:

Figuring out what the **FUCK** that thing just said **.**

Site 5 was also multiple different locations working simultaneously in concert, but all of them were colloquially known as “Site 5”. The Site 5 in question for the English Language was a re-purposed High School Gymnasium, bleachers ordered into neat rows and columns of English literature, the history of the english language, the etymology and mutations thereof…

Sitting in the middle of this perfect storm of literature were dozens of Etymologists, Sociologists and other Scientists, with their corresponding alien counterparts taking up the rest of the Gym floor. It wasn’t so much that they had so many resources to bring in to build their side of the translator matrix that they _needed_ the floor; merely, they just needed that much space to spread out and the bleachers were fine and yes we’re comfortable up here _far away from you_ , thankyouverymuch.

“[WE CALL YOU LOCALS. CHANGE LOCALS.]”

“Name of place?” Dr. Welst said, going through the checklist to whittle down what the alien meant.

“[NO.]” The giant werewolf rumbled. “[LOCALS ON WORLD. LOCALS OFF WORLD. LOCALS HERE. LOCALS THERE.]”

“Name of us?” She clarified, pointing to herself and then to one of her colleagues.

“[YES. LOCALS NAME.]”

“One. Human. Two or more. Humans. All. Humanity.” Dr. Welst began, rattling off in the most simple and basic way she knew how the various definition and tenses of her species’ name.

– – –

“B—. ?r$r—gBh.?”

“[Alright, did you catch that?]” Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren subvocalized, communicating with the _real_ team high in orbit on a senate ship. Her HUD flashed a confirmation, and she waited in attentive boredom as the little alien made happy-sounding mouthsounds at her. A private ping blinked in her sight, and she opened up the notification-  
  
  


**== CHAT ENABLED ==**

+) [PRIVATE CHATROOM 347.#$.5436.-G JOINED]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [What’s going on?]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [Just. My team’s having a field day over these things.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [They’re not a _thing_ , they’re a proud and noble race.]

= = =

Zgrnuzh-of-Regren rolled her eyes at the fierce defense, typing out a dismissive gesture in chat.

= = =

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Seriously. Come on- just _look_ at them. Nobility aside, this is borderline ridiculous.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [+REDACTED VIA CONTENT FILTER+]. [Granted.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [I’m still not over them being… just, _them._ Like.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Yeah!]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [Right? I wouldn’t believe it unless I was here.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [So what’s the plan? We’re having… a lot of debate on our end as to what name to assign their people.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Same. Should we go for a placeholder until the top brass figures it out?]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [Yes. _As long as it_ _’s respectful_.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Dull your claws already, sheesh.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [Look, I’m just saying they’ve suffered enough injustices already, and so the least we could do is introduce them in a way that-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Stooooop. Doing so is only going to have them carry _this_ forward for millenia. It’s better to name them based on what they are than what’s happened to them-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [But the two are the same! History can’t be separated from the species that creates it, and-]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [Warm cuddles.]

= = =

Zgrnuzh-of-Regren physically turned to look at her Forever-Free-Trail-Maker comrade, tilting her head slightly.

= = =

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [What.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [Warm cuddles. Our Ambassador-Speaker was apparently used as a nest for _their_ Leaders. They radiate heat, and didn’t want to leave. They are Warm and the cuddle, and it was a historic moment.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [Fear-shit.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [Mmm. Serious. Ask for file RE#55*NJ-7.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Ok if that’s the case then all bets are off. They have the tiniest of teeth and are so happy to chomp them at us – so, tiny-chomper.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [This is dumb and you’re dumb and I hate both of you and I’m going to-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Hold on.]

**== CHAT PAUSED ==**   
  
  


Zgrnuzh-of-Regren prepared herself, and cleared her throat – which, for some reason, caused all of the little locals to jump.

“{We want to see if you’re ok with this name}”

“[WE WISH TO SEE IF NAME IS GOOD.]”

“Ok.”

“[OK]” Zgrnuzh-of-Regren’s translator kicked back to her.

“{Tiny Chomper.}” Zgrnuzh-of-Regren said, enunciating each syllable clearly and slowly. If she was remembering correctly, they had translated both of those words before, so there should be no confusion-

“[HUMAN.]” The translator matrix helpfully spat out, in the locals’ native language.

“Yes.”

“[YES.]” Zgrnuzh-of-Regrens’ translator confirmed.

Zgrnuzh-of-Regren blinked, taken aback slightly. She had prepared to backpedal, as translation errors happened _all the time_ , so this little discrepancy could be explained away, but… but was it ok? _Were they ok being called Tiny-chompers?!_

“{Is that good? You want to be called tiny chompers?}”

“[IS GOOD. YOU NAME HUMAN.]”

“Yes.”

“[YES.]” The local research leader said, nodding to her colleagues and responding with a bright, wide smile.   
  
  


**== CHAT ENABLED ==**

.

.

.

+) [MISSED HISTORY. SHOW? Y/N]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [No. No. No. No. No. No. No.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [LOOK AT THEM THIS IS SO PRECIOUS OH MY GOD]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [No. No. No. No. No.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [I can’t believe they’re _actually_ ok with this.]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [No. No. No. No. I just. No. No.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [OK OK OK MY TURN-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: **_[NO.]_**

+) [Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan][DISCONNECTED FROM CHAT][TEMPORARY][VOLUNTARY]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [We are going to hell for this.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Maybe. Maybe this was meant to be? Aren’t you into predestination and whatnot?]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [See, I know we’re going to hell for this because you’re willingly engaging me in a theological debate to drag me off-course.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [They SAID they were ok with it. It’s both historically accurate and who they are, so it checks both boxes-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [Just because you’re _technically_ correct doesn’t mean that you’re _properly_ correct.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [I don’t think those words mean what you think they mean.]

+) [Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan][REJOINED CHAT]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [WARM CUDDLES WARM CUDDLES WARM CUDDLES WARM CUDDLES-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [NO WAY.]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [SO HAPPY AT THE NAME THEY WIGGLED WARM CUDDLES WARM CUDDLES-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [I can’t BELIEVE you two right now! They are little, and innocent, and they need protecting from so much, _most of all people like you_.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [So is that it? Is that the name?]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [What, little needs protecting?]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [I like it!]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [ ** _NO._** I will be better than you both!]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [NO. STOP TEMPTING ME.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT-]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [. . .]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [DO IT DO-]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [DO IT DO IT-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [DO-]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [DO IT DO I-]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [DO IT DO IT -]

+) [Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’][DISCONNECTED FROM CHAT][TEMPORARY][VOLUNTARY]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [Here we go here we go here we go-]

[Translator Technician Shrrsn’aasan]: [No way is he going to do it is he actually going to-]

+) [Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’][REJOINED CHAT]

[Translator Technician Rre’Qeuai’rr’’]: [I hate you both.]

[Translator Technician Zgrnuzh-of-Regren]: [HE DID IT THE ABSOLUTE INSANE BOY DID IT-]


End file.
